Relative Strangers
by Polly
Summary: When the past returns to Covington Cross it brings with it untold dangers for one of the family.
1. Default Chapter Title

Relative Strangers  
Author: Polly Spencer  
Disclaimer: If you recognise any of the characters, chances are they belong to Gil Grant and the writers and whoever else owns them for Covington Cross. If you don't recognise any, then they're most likely mine (though I think there's only two - I'm a bear of very little brain). I'm not getting any money out of this, and in fact, out of life. Sue me, things can't get worse! g  
Rating: PG if that (I'm not sure what US ratings are but I think this one is pretty standard).  
Note: This is my first time at a CC fic so this may not be my forte - please bear with me!  
  
  
  
It was a warm, close, afternoon at Covington Cross and the air held the scent of freshly cut grass and summer flowers. As the servants and tenants of Sir Thomas' estate went about their daily routines in as organised a hub-ub as possibile, a far less serene event was taking place in the main courtyard.   
"Give that back!" Cedric Gray yelled, grasping futiley at thin air for the object in question. "I mean it, Richard! I'm not joking." What had started out as an amsuing prank, was suddenly becoming much more serious for the young cleric who was desperately struggling not to lose face in the company of his entire collection of miserable siblings. For at that moment, they were all becoming miserable to him. Richard was the main, villainous perpetrator, with occasional jibes from William, and Eleanor, whilst not strictly aiding and abetting the deed, was not exactly helping him, leaning casually against the fence-post with an expression of mild curiousity in her eyes.   
Richard waved the offending roll of parchment just out of Cedirc's desperate reach. "All I want to know, little brother, is what you are so avidly concealing from us in this letter? Perhaps you are a spy. Hmm? Reporting our deepest, darkest secrets to Baron Mullens? This could reveal a treacherous ploy to bring down the Gray family."  
  
"It's nothing of the sort, you incompetant oaf and if you had half a brain about you then you would realise that!" Cedric replied,looking decidedly flustered and red-faced. Eleanor rolled her eyes heavenward in exasperation. "Come on, Richard. It was funny at first, but now just let him have it. The imp is quickly becoming annoying." Cedric shot her a sour look, and one not devoid of hurt - after all, he was used to his older brothers joining sides against him, but his older sister usually showed him more support. Still, at least she was aiming for the desired effect, he mused. And to her credit, it appeared to be working. Richard lowered his arm and brought the roll of parchment back down to Cedric's reach, stepping closer to him as he did so, an expression of amused defeat on his face.  
  
"All right, little brother. Take your parchment of life-saving proportions and go about your day with a skip in your step and a song in your heart!" Cedric was not amused at the sarcasm but was too relieved at reobtaining his letter, so he didn't bother to come up with a suitable rebuff. However, just as his fingers grazed the edge of the letter, Richard snatched it quickly out of his grasp and opened it, reading the first line out aloud.  
  
"My dear Lily, it has been so long since.." - Cedric launched himself at him, knocking him to the ground in an attempt to stop his brother from reading any further. Richard, however, was easily evading him and managed to climb back up to his feet whilst Cedric was still piled ungaimly on the ground. Richard was no longer reading however, but was instead laughing hysterically, so much so in fact, that he appeared to be having trouble breathing.  
"Good!" Cedric spat at him, "I hope you burst a lung and....and, any thing else that might happen to an idiot who can't stop laughing at something which isn't funny in the least!"  
  
Richard gasped for air, managing to get out, "A love letter? This is the big secret? Why Cedric - I wouldn't have guessed you had it in you."  
Cedric looked aghast at all his siblings and was dismayed to see that even Eleanor had the hint of a smile on her lips. "Honestly, Cedric", she attempted to console, "it's not like you needed to be ashamed of it. We all know of your amorous dispositions around here."  
  
Cedric, however did not look amused as he finally scrambled to his feet. He no longer made any attempt to take the letter from Richard and when William noticed that his younger brother no longer had the will to fight, he quickly realised that the jest had gone too far, immediately becoming protective of his baby brother.   
"All right, Richard. That's enough now. Let him have his letter back. We all write personal letters of some kind and no one wants those spread about. At least," he said, smugly, with a sidewise glance at Richard, "those of us who do actually write."   
"Your attempts at wit are almost as amusing as Cedric's letters, brother, but I will concede your point as is fitting to my good grace and intelligence." He ignored the snort of disbelief from his siblings and graciously handed Cedric back his letter, which he then tucked safely beneath his shirt. In an attempt to regain some lost dignity, he squared his shoulders evenly and began to scrumptiously straighten his clothing, making it clear that he was still annoyed at Richard, yet too big a man to let the whole situation ruffle him. Richard noticed these attempts and decided that it couldn't hurt to mend some bridges and humour his brother.  
  
"I'm sorry Cedric. Honestly, I didn't mean any harm. If I ever compose a sonet of my own, you will be the first person who will get to hear it, I give you my word." He held his hand for Cedric to shake and, though Cedric doubted the complete sincerity of that statement, he begrudgingly took the proffered hand. "Right then." William exclaimed, suddenly, "now that we're all friends again, I'm going to do a check on the inventory."  
"Again?" Eleanor asked. "You did one this morning. You know I'm certain you boys just lay around the fields when you claim that you are off working. Cedric and I are most likely the only people who do any real work in this castle."  
"I beg to differ, sister most dear, but what exactly do you do all day that is so strenuous? That lute must tire your fingers so." Richard folded his arms across his chest, clearly waiting for another good argument to begin. She didn't dissapoint him. "You arrogant pig!" she exclaimed, though a smile was clearly playing on her lips. "I catch and skin half the animals that you feed your belly with on the table every day."  
  
"Well women are supposed to prepare the meals - what's special in that? Besides, hunting only requires a good aim. What William and I do, requires a great deal of strength as well as skill and finese."  
"A great deal of strength?!" Eleanor repeated with a laugh. "They're sheep, Richard - not oxen!" "Yes", he replied, "but you are forgetting that there is a great deal of heavy lifting involved."  
"Yes I don't doubt it." Cedric said joined in with mock sincerity, "I hear the pints at the Magpie's Nest have doubled in size and weight since Eleanor and I last found time to go in there." Cedric was never too downtrodden to join in a good argument between his siblings. Richard shot him a sour look whilst William just rolled his eyes and began to make his way towards the paddocks. "Keep that up, little brother", said Richard, evenly, "and I might just be forced to tell father all about the occasion when you 'last found time' to visit the Magpie's Nest. When was it exactly? During the summer festival riots when father had strictly forbidden you or Eleanor to leave the castle grounds? Yes, I think that was it - my memory is coming back to me with an inexplicable rush of enthusiasm."   
  
Cedric narrowed his eyes, suspiciously, not entirely certian whether his brother was joking or not. Eleanor, too, now that she had been drawn into this again, came forward from her place by the fence to stand almost toe to toe with Richard, Cedric next to her like two opposing armies poised to stike. "I would hope, Richard for your sake, that you are joking.", she replied, sweetly. "After all, I think father would also like to know who cruelly abandoned us at the tavern, leaving us all defencless and alone, whilst he dallyed in the back meadows with Susanah the bar maid." She smiled brightly at him as he pretended to size her up carefully. Finally he broke into a grin himself. "I guess we're all locked to secrecy till the day we die, then."  
  
"That seems the best course of action." Cedric hastily agreed.  
"Come on, my young and defencless siblings - I think those were my ribs, Eleanor - you should watch your ungaimly arm-swinging you'll never get a husband at that rate - let us go and observe the master at work with the sheep. He really does seem to excell himself with bovines." So, draping an arm casually around his brother and sister, they began to follow William to the pastures.  
  
Out of the summer haze, however, came the hastily advancing form of what soon became recognizable as the Friar. Cedric turned and seeing him making for them in some haste, groaned audibly. "I can't believe he found me again! Does that man never cease?" They all stopped and waited for the Friar to catch up with them, although Cedric would dearly loved to have made a run for it. It wouldn't have been any good, though. He would have to make it back up to the school room eventually. Eleanor and Richard, once again relaxed into the comforting scenario of watching their little brother squirm his way out of an uncomfortable situation. It was so common place that it had become reassuringly familiar. "You know, Cedric", Richard said mildly, "for the right price, William and I could show you how to lock the Friar in the privy with much greater efficiency than what you seem to have accomplished."  
  
"William! Cedric! I...I must speak with you!" the Friar called as he tried to catch his breath. Finally reaching them, the Friar stood there for a moment, doubled over and panting for breath, before he finally spoke. "Your father wants you all to come into the Great Hall at once. He has something very important to tell you all."   
"What is it?" Eleanor asked, her curiosity piqued.  
"Don't get your hopes up, Eleanor." Richard cut in, "it's most likely another trader who is stopping by for us to entertain."  
"I don't believe so Master Richard - I believe it is family business. Is Master William nearby? I must tell him as well."  
"Yes, Friar. He should be in the pastures. If he's not there, could you let us know because   
I'm sure that woild be worth a drink or two down the tavern if he knew that we knew." Eleanor asked eagerly, already envisaging her idle brother's face when he was caught sleeping by a hay-stack. Though slightly perplexed by her request, the Friar acknowleged it duly, his mind too preoccupied with completing his task to give it much thought.   
"Well, thank-you for the message, Friar." Richard said as he began to head off towards the castle. "Yes", Cedric agreed, quickly following his brother's lead, "very kind." The Friar fixed him with a meaningful glare. "You needn't think that I've forgotten, Cedric - and neither has your father. Who do you think had to free me from the privy in order to send me on this errand?" Again, Cedric groaned inwardly as Eleanor tried unsuccessfully to cover a smirk, pulling her little brother back towards the castle.   
  
Sir Thomas paced the floor of the Great Hall excitedly, waiting for his children to arrive. He read and re-read the roll of paper in his hand, every now and then, giving it a sharp, triumphant tap, as if he succeeded in solving a puzzle every time he looked at it. It had all been so long, he thought to himself, wistfully. Too long in his opinion. Things should have been sorted out long ago, fifteen years ago to be exact but somehow, even with Anne's death, the time had never seemed right. Now, however, with this latest development it seemed that an opportunity had been given to him to rebuild the past, and he wasn't about to turn it down. After what seeemed like an age and a day, the door to the Hall flung open and three of his brood sauntered into the room. The last of the motly crew was no where to be seen, but Sir Thomas had always surmised that his third oldest was the most concientious worker of his children. He was doubtless away managing some distant part of the estate.   
  
"What is it, Father?" Richard asked as they entered the room.  
"I'm glad you're all here, but I really should wait for William."  
"Oh please, Father. Tell us what's going on - we're dying to know.", Eleanor pleaded.   
"If you could just hold your attention for a few minutes more, Eleanor", their father replied, somewhat sarcastically.  
"I'm baiting my breath as we speak, Father.", she replied as sweetly as possible. So Eleanor, Richard and Cedric sat themselves down in the Hall, whilst their father continued a slightly calmer version of his previous pacing, until presently, the door opened again and William strode through, his face clearly showing that he considered some great business deal was about to be dropped in their laps.  
  
"Ah, William - good. If you'll take a seat with your sister and brothers, then we may begin." He didn't say anything, but curiously took his seat, as instructed.   
"Now," Sir Thomas began, "as you all may be aware, I have some exciting news - some very good news, in fact." He paused to ensure that he had their undivided attention - somewhat like a child about to perform a recital of some kind. They were, indeed, undivided, so he continued, "Your Great Uncle Peter, has died!" A noticable silence filled the Hall for a moment. Cedric lent forward slightly, his brow furrowed in confusion, "And I take it we don't like this ..great uncle...Peter?"  
"Oh, no no", Thomas amended quickly, "No he was a decent enough fellow - never really knew the man much myself, but the point is, that he was a very wealthy man, with no surviving relatives, except for our line of the family."  
"You mean there's an inheritance?" Richard asked eagerly.  
"Yes!" said his father, triumphantly.  
"Bags I get a new cross-bow!" Eleanor put in, enthusiastically.  
"No", said Richard, defensively, "I am in urgent need of a new horse! As I'm the eldest, my knightly needs should come first."  
"You're both wrong!" Cedric protested, "this money could ensure that I be allowed to become a Knight - a far more worthy cause, I think father will agree." The bickering had the potential to carry on for an eternity, but William succeeded in cutting it short.  
"So how much do you get?" he asked, calmly.  
"Not a penny!" cried Sir Thomas with great excitement.  
Again, silence reigned supreme for a few awkward moments as the three children struggled to make some sense of this.  
  
"Forgive us, Father", Eleanor said eventually, "but we are failing to reach the levels of enthusiasm which seem to have been bestowed upon you."  
"Quite, Father", Richard agreed. "If you are not enitled to any of it, then why tell us about it at all?"  
"It's a mean, dirty trick, that's what it is..." Cedric mumbled to himself, ignored by all.  
"The good news, children, is that the inheritance should go to my older brother, Charles."  
They all appeared slightly shocked at the latest developments.  
"But Father," William said, "I didn't know you had an older brother."  
"Oh yes," Sir Thomas replied, the earlier hint of sadness returning to his eyes momentarily, but then it was gone. "He left a long time ago. I'm sure only Armus might remember him, but even he would have been a very little boy at the time."  
"So where is Uncle Charles now?" Eleanor asked.  
"Well I'm not entirely certian, but I have a feeling that he is either in France or the Low Countries. He doesn't know about the inheritance yet, of course."  
"Then what's the problem?" Cedric exclaimed, happily. "He never has to know!" William elbowed Cedric in the ribs, none too gently.  
"Ow!" he exclaimed, "what was that for?"  
"Father wouldn't cheat his own brother, Cedric!"  
"Well I wouldn't think twice if it was you!" Cedric retorted.   
"Enough, children!" Sir Thomas called, raising his hands for peace. "I am most anxious to resume contact with your uncle and when he arrives here, I hope that you will not only show him the curteousy which I know you are all capable of, but will also grow to accept him as one of the family."  
  
"Of course, Father." Eleanor agreed, quickly. She rose and gave her father a peck on the cheek. "I'm looking forward to meeting him already." She smiled one of her sincere smiles, to let him know that she was serious. "Thank you, Eleanor. I may always count on you for your kindness and understanding." He sighed, somewhat affectionately, "You have so many of your mother's qualities about you." She looked at him with a mixture of surprise and appreciation, before her embarrassment at her obviously gentile behavoir in front of her brothers, won out and she gracefully excused herself, leaving the room quickly.   
"When do you think he will arrive, Father?" William asked, also rising.  
"I'm hoping that he will be in England within the next few weeks. I am so looking forward to this meeting. It has been too long and too negligent of me."  
"Well he could have made the move to contact you first." Richard pointed out.  
"True" Thomas agreed. "Perhaps the burden should be equal."  
"But why have we never heard of him?" Cedric protested. Richard shot him a look to tactfully silence him.  
"What?!" Cedric demanded, angrily. "I only want to know why we never seem to talk about our own families! Father can't hate his brother that much, surely?"  
"Come along, Cedric", William said, hastily, "you can help us with the sheep." He and Richard began to drag the protesting Cedric out of the Hall, whilst Sir Thomas just watched them go, not quite sure what to make of all of it.  
  
"I don't want to help you with the bloody sheep - I just want to know why nobody is answering my questions!" Cedric exclaimed in annoyance as his brothers finally released him once safely out of the castle. "Because, little brother!" William replied, sternly, "The topic of the rift between father and his brother, is obviously still painful to him."  
"He didn't seem pained to me", Cedric pointed out.  
"He did to those who know how to read him." Richard insisted. Cedric felt a little hurt by the implication that he wasn't connected to his own father, but he decided not to continue this argument any further. "Well you two can think what you like! I have more important things to worry about."  
"You're right there," William agreed mildly, "From the sound of the Friar and father's voices in there, I think he's just remembered where you were meant to be today."  
"Oh God's teeth!" Cedric groaned, "If either of them ask - you didn't see me." He didn't bother checking to see whether his brothers were going to comply or not, but made a hasty retreat to the orchards.  
William and Richard watched him go, shaking their heads in amusement. "You hear that, Richard? If father asks us where the foul-mouthed little man of the Cloth is, then we've no idea."  
"Yes", Richard agreed, "absolutely no idea that the little blaspheemer has headed straight to the orchards and that they could catch up with him if they just kept a steady pace."  
"He's headed straight to Hell, more like, with language like that." William added. "So do you want to do a live-stock inventory?"  
"Might as well. Race you to the pastures."  
"Richard, that is far too childish, I am above such things - you scurvy cheat! You started without me!!! I'll beat you there, Richard so don't even try."....  
  
  
Cedric wandered aimlessly through the orchards, the smell of the fruit tempting him with every step he took. Finally, his hunger over-powered him and picking out a ripe apple, he began to munch slowly on it. So far the day had been an eventful one, but not entirely pleasant. He didn't really care about the loss of the inheritance - it wasn't as if they were in need of it, after all - but he was generally upset over his whole family. They treated him like he wasn't even there at times and when they did acknowledge him lately, it was only to tease him or rebuff him for something he had said or done. 'I reckon that I could dissappear off the face of this Earth, and they wouldn't even notice I'd gone', he thought, ruefully in a pleasant moment of self-pity. He lay down on the grass, apple in hand and closed his eyes, imagining the horror-struck look on his brothers' faces if he were to be declared missing and the hell his father would put them through until he decided to turn up safely again.  
"You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders", came a soft, kind voice from behind him. His eyes shot open and he turned on one elbow to see the lady who owned that beautiful voice.  
"Nan!" he exclaimed, happily.   
"Hello Cedric. How have you been?" He stood up to greet her properly.   
"Terrible. I was trying to find you this morning but I got way laid. I wanted to talk to you about something. Do you have time to sit and talk?" he asked hopefully.  
  
"I'm sure I can manage it, Cedric.", she replied, smiling. Cedric had always held the belief that she had one of the most beautiful smiles he had ever seen - it was filled with compassion, and understanding, love and humour and just a tinge of sadness that he couldn't place, but was somehow comfortingly familiar. Her face was soft and pale, framed by a wavey head of dark curls which fell loosely over her shoulders. Her blue eyes were a perfect match for her sky blue dress and when she spoke and moved, it was with the smooth mixture of the intelligence and grace of an older woman, and a capacity and enthusiasm for fun - the kind small children harness with ease.   
She sat down on the soft grass and Cedric followed suit. "So tell me your worries, Cedric.", she said, patiently, "why were you trying to find me this morning?"  
"Oh", Cedric said dismissively with a slight wave of his hand, "it was nothing really, just...well...do you remember that girl I was telling you about?" Nan pretended to narrow her eyes in deep concentration, "Now..which one would that have been?"  
"You know!" Cedric protested with mock indignation - somehow her teasing was always kind and gentle and never bothered him like his family's did. "Lily.", he informed her, anyway.  
"Ah yes! The infamous Lily. I remember now - please go on."  
"Well, I wrote that poem, as you suggested, and well.."he broke off, sheepishly,   
"I would like to look at it, if I may?" Nan offered, kindly.  
"Oh," Cedric said, relieved, "well, yes - if you want to look at it and, maybe tell me what you think, then please feel free." He handed her the parchment from under his shirt and studied the ground intently whilst she read it carefully. As her keen eyes darted over the page, a look of sorrow clouded her eyes, even as a gentle smile curled her lips. Finally she looked up from the page and turned her gaze on the rather nervous young man before her.  
  
"It is truly wonderful, Cedric.", she assured him, handing him back the letter.  
"Are you sure?" he asked, uncertainly, apparently still unconvinced. "I mean I looked at the works of the poets you suggested but when I read mine after I had completed it, it didn't seem to have the same type of words, or styles...or any kind of eloquance what so ever."  
"That doesn't matter, Cedric. What matters is what is in your heart. I could dictate to you, entire sonets by some of the greatest poets of our times, but if you didn't truly mean the words you wrote, then they in turn would mean nothing to Lily. What you have done is far more effective."  
"So you think its worthy of giving to Lily?"  
"I only hope that Lily is worthy of recieving it.", she insisted, warmly. Cedric appeared happy at last, and tucked the letter back beneath his shirt, a feeling of weight lifting from his chest.  
"Is this all that was troubling you?" Nan asked, perceptively. He looked away for a moment.  
"You know you can tell me anything.", she prodded, gently. He sighed rather heavily.  
"It's my family - that's all."  
"That seems to me to be quite a large worry to deal with. Do you mean all of them?"  
"Well, my brothers and sister mainly, I suppose. They treat me like an infant! Or an imbecile, but neither is pleasant." She gave him a sympathetic nod.   
"I am certain that they do not mean to be cruel.", she replied, soothingly, "perhaps you need to tell them how you are feeling?" Cedric laughed derivesly.  
"Come now, Cedric!" she chided, gently, "they can not be such monsters."  
"You've never met them!" he retorted jokingly. "All right", he conceded, "I suppose you're right, but if talking doesn't work then I think I should pour buckets of water in their beds one night."  
"What ever you think best, Cedric.", she conceded, wisely. He paused for a moment, as if considering his next words carefully.  
"Nan?" He waited for her response to go on. "Why do we always have to meet like this?"  
"What do you mean?" she asked, kindly.  
"Well, I mean, just randomly - out and about, in the gardens, in the kitchens?"  
She looked at him intently for a moment. "Am I not here when you need to see me?" Though ostensibly calm, Cedric could detect an inner desperation of kinds inside her and so quickly allayed her fears, "No, not at all! In fact, you always seem to be around when I need you, but - don't you want to meet my family at all?"  
"From the way you talk about them, I feel like I already know them.", she answered, lightly.  
"Oh they're not as bad as I make out, if that's what is discouraging you.", he assured her. She laughed, "No, I don't suppose that they are. Oh Cedric, you know I care for you very much and I am sure, if I ever met them, that I would care for your family too, but I've told you before that it is not possible."  
"But why?" he persisted. She gave an almost imperceptible sigh.  
"Family difficulties.", was all she said by way of answer. Cedric could see that this was making her feel uneasy and he didn't want to drive her away. He smoothly tried to draw her off the topic. "Families are funny things, aren't they? I thought I knew mine and then today I learn that I have an uncle I never even knew existed!"  
  
Nan looked up, almost sharply from the flower she was studying. Cedric was momentarily afraid that he had offended her, but her expression and demeanor relaxed immediately. "Tell me about him.", she said. He shrugged. "I don't think there's much to tell - at least I don't know much about him. Father says that he's been out of the country my whole life - in France or something. I'm sure we'll find out when he arrives."  
"He's coming to Covington Cross, then?" she asked with polite interest.  
"Apparently so. An old relation of ours died, and uncle Charles is due for the inheritance."  
"When do you expect him?"  
"Father says a few weeks." Nan got smoothly to her feet. "Wait!" Cedric protested, "where are you going? Can't you stay a bit longer today?" She shook her head, kindly. "I'm afraid not, Cedric but I will be back, I promise and you must be sure to tell me how Lily received your poem."   
"I will", Cedric assured her, hastily, following her to the edge of the orchard and the begining of the forest edge. "And remember, Cedric", she said as she reached the edge of the forest and turned back to look at him, "speak of our meetings to no one - not even your family. I know this seems strange to you, but you must trust me that this is something which cannot be spoken of - not yet. Do I have your word?"  
"Yes, of course - you know you do, but you're right - I don't understand this."  
"You will in time.", she called as she dissappeared into the growth of the forest. For a moment Cedric was tempted to follow her and see where she went, but he had long ago promised never to do that, and he considered himself a man of his word.  
  
  
Three weeks passed at Covington Cross without incident. The siblings continued to jibe one another, the estate ran smoothly, Cedric's relationship with Lily ran its natural course and ended as swiftly as it began and Sir Thomas spent his spare hours preparing for the arrival of Charles Gray. His room was constantly kept up by the house-keeping staff on the off-chance of a sudden entry into England, despite the assurances that Sir Thomas was getting from his scouting agents, that Charles was steadily making his way home and they would inform Thomas of every update on his brother's activities.  
  
Finally, a messenger came riding swiftly to the castle to inform everyone of the arrival of Charles Gray within the hour. Sir Thomas erupted into a flurry of action. The cooks were instructed to prepare a hearty meal, the maids to double check the guest room and messengers were sent to retrieve William and Richard from the fields. Thomas removed a much delighted Cedric from his latin lesson and charged him with the task of locating and returning Eleanor from her hunting expedition. An hour flew by like no time at all.  
  
Sir Thomas once again resumed pacing the Great Hall. "Thomas will you please be calm?" Lady Elizabeth pleaded, placing a gentle, restraining hand on his arm as he crossed her path. He stopped abruptly, as if suddenly realising his agitated behaviour. He sighed, "Oh, I am sorry Elizabeth. It's just that we didn't part on the best of terms as you know. What if he doesn't want to mend the past? What if he's here for the inheritance and nothing else? I don't think I could stand another rift between us."  
"Thomas, you have nothing to worry about", she said, coaxingly. "If I remember Charles rightly, then he was too full of the spirit of life to let anything weigh him down long."  
  
Thomas looked at her pointedly, "It's been fifteen years, Elizabeth - that seem long enough to me."  
"But not too long to break a blood tie - you'll see. It will be all right." Finally, he seemed to relax for a moment. "Thank-you Elizabeth. I cannot tell you how glad I am that you were here today when the message arrived. I can just imagine Charles coming home to find me a nervous wreck on the floor!"  
"More's the pity, brother - you know how I find these fan-fares and banquets such a bore, but then you never did have a flare for the dramatic entertainment." Thomas spun around at the sound of the almost long-forgotten voice. A man, in his early fifties, stood in the entrance way to the Hall, watching the scene before him with some amusement. His slightly unkempt black hair was protruding from beneath his travelling hat, his full beard streaked with silver-grey. He would not immediately have been taken for a brother of Sir Thomas', despite their being the same build and height but there was something about him - some essence of life, which marked him out to be a member of the Gary clan.  
  
"Charles!" Thomas exclaimed, softly, a smile spreading over his face as he moved forward to greet his brother. "My God! It is you - it's really you. I almost cannot believe it." Charles chuckled quietly, holding his hand for Thomas to take. "Yes, Thomas, it is I - in the flesh. And it has been too long."  
"Indeed it has", Thomas agreed, gravely, shaking Charles' hand in earnest, "and we have much to discuss."  
"So we have, brother - but later, hmm? First, I wish to reacquaint myself with your family and with Covington Cross."   
"Of course!" Sir Thomas agreed, releasing Charles with one last pat on the back. "My family should be with us at any moment. Come, take a seat at the table - you must be weary after all that travelling." He led Charles to the table and pulled out a chair for him to sit down.  
"If you insist, Thomas, but I should point out that I spent this travelling sitting in a carriage, not hiking up the mountains."  
"Naturally," Thomas amended, "but it does not hurt to be hospitable - my goodness I have been so rude!" he exclaimed, suddenly, seeing Lady Elizabeth patiently waiting by the table, an amused expression on her face. Charles rose immediately and crossed to greet Elizabeth. "No need for introduction, Thomas. I can clearly surmise that you must be Lady Elizabeth. I fail to see how Thomas has once again attracted such a marvel as this kind lady." She smiled and offered him her hand, which he duly kissed lightly. "The pleasure is mine, Charles, I can assure you.", she replied graciously. "I must confess, however that I was not sure if you would remember me."  
  
"How could one forget you? And now, Thomas - what of your merry brood? I remember them too, you know."  
"Of course, of course. They are certainly around the castle somewhere. Richard and William have just returned from the fields and Cedric and Eleanor should be on their way back as well."  
"And what of Armus?" Charles asked. At the mention of his eldest son's name, Sir Thomas' face fell, his brow furrowed. "Armus is away fighting for the King in the crusades. We pray always for his safety and his swift return." Charles' jovial expression at once became serious, "As will I, brother - you may count on that. I only wish that I could have offered you more support when he first went away." They had time to exchange a brief smile before the door burst open and Richard and William hurried into the room.  
  
"Is he here yet?" Richard asked as he entered.  
"Well what does it look like, Richard?" William replied, sarcastically.  
"My, Thomas, they haven't changed a bit." Charles remarked, dryly, a twinkle in his eye.  
"Richard, William - I want you to come over here and meet your uncle Charles." Thomas said, beckoning them over excitedly. They approached quickly. "It's good to meet you", William said.  
"How was your journey?" Richard asked, shaking the hand he was offered.   
"My journey was fine - thank-you for asking, my boy. So you two are Richard and William? Will it cause you great offence to tell you that the last time I saw you, you were both near knee-high, if that?" Richard and William exchanged amused and embarrassed glances.  
  
"Er, normally, 'yes' but I suppose we can let you have that one." Richard said, merrily.  
"Richard!" their father remonstrated, lightly.  
"Oh not at all, Thomas." Charles exclaimed, "it's good to see you've raised two honest and forthright boys." Thomas muttered a remark which could have been to the affirmative or not, but William and Richard just grinned guilessley. They were beginning to like Charles Grey.  
"So, what have you been doing for fifteen years, Uncle Charles?" Richard asked, curiously.  
"Expanding my business mainly. I concentrate my efforts mainly in the cloth market though my other industries such as sheep rearing and farming are also doing well. I hear you boys were in the fields when I arrived. I take you both more for knights than shepherds."  
"Oh, well that's William's idea mainly." Richard put in. "He likes to involve himself in the labourers' trade and I supervise him mostly." William shot his brother a very sour look. "Well that's good." Charles said, mildly. "Idle hands, eh Thomas?"  
"Quite.", their father agreed, casting Richard a warning look as he did so.  
  
"I found her, father and you wouldn't believe where she was!" Cedric called as he stumbled into the Great Hall, laughing heavily as Eleanor raced in hot on his heals. "You liar!" she challenged, also out of breath and giggling. "I was hunting a stag - don't let him tell you otherwise!" A throat cleared in front of them. They stopped abruptly, mid-way through a pretend wrestling match, and looked up at the group assembled before them.  
  
Richard and William were unsuccessfully covering a smirk and their father stood there watching them expectantly, arms folded across his chest. However, their focus came to rest on the gentleman standing to the left of their father. He was looking at them intently, his expression unreadable, but with a glimmer in his eyes. Hastily, they got up from the floor and hurried over to the assembled group. Thomas did not appear too impressed and they both had the feeling that they would hear more on that particular topic later.   
"Charles", Thomas began, moving forward to take Eleanor's hand, "you remember my daughter, Eleanor." He gave a glance over her hunting trousers, shirt and leather jerkin, finally resting on the cross-bow and dagger which hung by her side. He cast a look at Cedric who had the good sense to appear a little guilty, as Thomas said through clenched teeth. "Cedric, I thought you were going to ask your sister to change before you came to greet us?"  
"Ah, yes - I was, wasn't I? Well, you see we were going to go upstairs and change in just a moment, but we had kind of lost track of time.", he admitted, glancing down at the ground.  
  
"We're sorry father." Eleanor added, "we didn't know Uncle Charles was here yet." However, Charles cut off anything Thomas might have said in reply. He stepped forward and gently took Eleanor's hand, his expression one of tenderness and wonder. "So here you are, Eleanor," he said, almost to himself. "You were but a babe when I saw you last, and my, you have turned out most wonderfully." She blushed slightly at his remarks. "You're very kind. I did mean to change though - this is just my...well my casual clothes.", she explained, awkwardly. Normally she cared nothing for what others thought of her masculine past-times, but for some reason, she felt the need live up to whatever image he might have built up of her over the years.  
  
"There's no need to explain, Eleanor. I had a suspicion from the moment you rejected the dolls your relatives tried to give to you, that you would grow up with your brothers, not apart from them. And", he added, "that you would in turn, grow to excel at many of your pursuits. May I take it from that fine cross-bow at your hip, that you are a keen huntress?"  
"I have a stag already delivered to the kitchens this very day!" she said, proudly.   
"Then I shall never have tasted a meal so fine, I am sure.", he assured her, smiling broadly.  
"And this", Thomas said, moving on to his youngest son, "is my youngest child, Cedric. I don't believe you have ever met him before." Cedric felt decidedly uncomfortable at that moment, especially now that he was the last one and all eyes were rested upon him. Charles appeared to be scrutinising him carefully, more so than he had done for any of the others and Cedric could not quite understand why. "Ah, yes", Charles replied, softly, more to Thomas than Cedric, "our little Cedric. I have often wondered about him." Then he turned his comments to Cedric himself. "I regret that you are the only one of your siblings whom I did not hold as an infant nor watch you grow. However! I am not here to embarrass you with tales of the past. Instead let us concentrate on the present and the future as I am certain to know all of you better in due course!" Cedric smiled graciously along with his uncle and the rest of his family, although inside he was still bridling over being referred to as 'our little Cedric'.   
"And is Cedric a knight, like his brothers?" Charles asked Thomas.  
"No", Thomas replied, "Cedric is studying to be a cleric. It was Anne's last wish that he join the Church."  
"Really? Then perhaps he will be the intellect of the family, as his brothers are the strength?"  
"Yes, very intellectual." Thomas agreed, chuckling.  
  
"Quite so", Cedric agreed lightly, a tight smile plastered on his face, "So educated I can read, write and even talk for myself in conversations." Charles' smile faded from his face ever so slightly. "Uh, of course Cedric - my apologies." Cedric gave a small smile back in acceptance, unsure of how to react to an apology from his elders. Swiftly, Thomas broke the uneasy tension in the room. "Well, everyone! I am certain that supper must nearly be ready. Why do we all not sit down and have some wine in the mean time?" Glad of the change of direction, everyone quickly took their seats around the table as the servants moved from the back of the room, to fetch the wine. When Charles was out of ear-shot, Thomas took Cedric aside for the talk the young man knew was coming. "Cedric, I expect you to keep a civil tongue in your head whilst your uncle is here. Is that understood?"  
"But father, he was treating me like I wasn't even there.", he protested, quietly.  
"He simply did not know how to act around you - he certainly meant no offence. Now I trust I can expect no more rudeness from you?" It was more a statement than a question, and Cedric wisely decided to treat it as such. "Yes father."  
"Good then. Let's rejoin the others." They both moved to their seats at the table as the servants hurried back in with the wine jars.  
  
Supper was a quiet and pleasant affair. Obviously there were still questions on everybody's minds which were left unanswered but the topics of conversation were never strained or contrived. William discussed the politics of the realm, Richard spun marvellous tales of his knightly deeds which Eleanor proceeded to disrepute, and Cedric decided that despite his earlier first impression, his Uncle Charles was actually quite likeable.  
  
It was late in the day before the meal was finally over and the discussions had begun to die down. The sun had set hours ago and fatigue had washed over the table's occupants.   
"Come Charles. I have had the servants take your belongings up to your room. I will show you the way there - you look exhausted." Thomas stood and stretched the knots out of his back and neck. Charles followed suit, as the children continued to hotly debate amongst themselves, not paying the adults any heed.   
"Charles, I shall say goodnight as well, though it was lovely meeting you again. Thomas, your hospitality has been most gracious, as always." Elizabeth smiled and rose from the table, Thomas moving to escort her to the door.   
"Elizabeth, must you go now?" Thomas asked.   
"Yes, I'm afraid so. As we have already said, it is late and I must ride back tonight." There was a noticeable silence between them which Charles was not oblivious to.  
"Elizabeth", he said, taking her other hand, "it has been my honour to be reacquainted with you. I hope I shall be seeing you again soon?"  
"You may depend on it, Charles. Good night." Thomas and Charles both walked Lady Elizabeth to her carriage, where her driver was waiting.  
  
"Will you let it go, Eleanor?" Cedric groaned, his head cradled on his arms, "you and William are equal at riding!"  
"That's not what he says!" she protested, "Father will support me, won't you -" She looked up at the head of the table where her father and uncle had been sitting. "Oh", she said in surprise - "they're gone. Must be seeing the wench off. Pity.", she said, sweetly.  
Richard sighed, "Father is going to skin you alive one of these days if he hears you calling her that."  
"Humph! If Cedric can get away with his jibe to Uncle Charles today, then I should be given freedom to say what I like about 'Lady of the Night' Elizabeth - after all, I have much more cause to do so then Cedric had with Charles."  
"So what do you think of Uncle Charles?" William cut in, anxious to change the topic.  
"He seems like a good man." Richard commented.  
"Hmm, I like him." Eleanor agreed. "He said he would help me to master jousting while he was here."  
"Yes", Cedric added, "and he told me he would teach me sword-work when he had the time."  
"He was humouring you, little brother - no one has time enough to teach you fighting skills." Richard replied.   
"They'd be harder pushed to teach you manners, Richard." Eleanor teased.  
  
At that moment, Thomas and Charles re-entered the room. "Are you four still arguing?" Thomas asked in exasperation. They all stopped their conversation and looked to the newcomers. "Not at all, father", Eleanor replied, "just straightening out a few truths."  
"Really? Well how is this for an indisputable truth? It is time for bed - all of you." He was met with the chorus of groans he had expected. He turned to Charles. "You see what mutiny I am faced with on a daily basis, brother?"  
"I do, Thomas, and with only the lovely Lady Elizabeth to offer you support!" he teased, implicitly. They both missed Eleanor's scowl. Thomas laughed good-naturdely at his brother's jest. "At least you and I agree that she is lovely! That is more than we ever agreed on as children."  
"Ah, do you fear I have intentions for your lady friends again, Thomas?" he asked, a wicked glint in his eye.  
"Not at all, Charles, " Thomas replied smoothly, "As I recall you always had more intentions for my lady friend's younger sisters than for themselves. I imagine Anne was most offended that Mary received all of your attention!"  
  
"What? So now I have an Aunt Mary that I knew nothing about as well!" Cedric exclaimed in exasperation. An uncomfortable silence shuffled into the room as Thomas and Charles gave each other an awkward glance, long-buried memories, clearly surfacing again. The children did not believe that they had seen Charles look quite so sombre as he did at that moment. Quickly Thomas cleared his throat and moved the conversation in a different direction.  
"Come now - I said retire and I meant it. Busy day on the morrow." Hastily, they all rose and, excusing themselves, left the room.  
  
Once they were safely upstairs, Eleanor turned to her brothers. "So what was all that about?"   
"I believe it was Cedric displaying his usual level of tact and diplomacy!" said William, sarcastically. Eleanor groaned. "Oh, I haven't the energy to start another argument now. I'm going to bed." With that, she wandered off to her own room.  
"I'm going too." Richard said, yawning.  
"Wait!" Cedric protested, "I want to know what happened down there? You two must know something!"  
"Why should we know?" William asked, somewhat indignantly.  
"Because you always claim to know everything!" Cedric challenged back. William and Richard exchanged a long glance, obviously deciding whether or not to say anything. Finally William said. "If we tell you what we know, you have to promise to employ a little more intelligence in revealing it when-ever and to whom-ever you chose."  
"Agreed!" Cedric assured them quickly.  
"Well, it's not absolute fact, but Richard and I have done some investigating into the time when Uncle Charles was last at Covington Cross."  
"Talked to old servants - the usual thing." Richard put in.  
"Yes. Anyway, from what we can gather, Mother had a younger sister named Mary. This sister had a romance of sorts with Uncle Charles, only I think he was more infatuated with her. Anyway, it didn't work out because one night Mary eloped."  
"Seriously?" Cedric asked in amazement.  
"Yes. She left secretly, hurting all the family she left behind, especially Uncle Charles."  
"Is that why he left?" Cedric asked curiously.  
"Well, I'm not sure for certain," William continued, "but when Mary left, she disgraced the family. Most of them disowned her then and there - never even tried to contact her again."  
"Even father and mother?" Cedric asked in amazement. Richard and William nodded, wordlessly. "Mother didn't want to, of course but she didn't want to go against Father. And Father...well, you know how he can get about right and wrong, law and justice and so on."  
"Well she was in the wrong." Richard pointed out.  
"Of course", William agreed, "But Uncle Charles didn't see it that way. He hated the family for the way they'd treated Mary. Rallied to have her brought back and into the protection of the Grays again. When Father wouldn't help him, he left England shortly afterwards. It was most likely in connection with the rift between them."  
Cedric took all this in, thoughtfully. There was so much about his family that he didn't know.   
"Don't think too much about it now, Cedric," Richard advised, "No doubt Father will speak to you about your latest brilliant outburst, tomorrow - you can ask him for all the details then. Now, if you will both excuse me, I am going to bed." Cedric sighed, and decided to follow his brother's example lest he should add failing to follow his father's instructions to the many other items on the list of faults against him.  
  
Charles Gray slept for the majority of the following morning, during which Cedric received his second warning about choosing his words carefully, in as many days. That done however, life returned to normal at Covington Cross. Well, not quite normal: Charles proved to be a very entertaining guest for all. True to his word, Eleanor began her very first jousting lessons later in the week and discovered that she had a natural talent for it. Charles refused her request to allow her to pit herself against Richard and William, not entirely trusting the motivations on either side. Cedric also began instruction for sword-play, though Thomas was quick to point out that it was for recreational purposes only. Any delusions of Knighthood (though not so cruelly worded) were to be banished from thought. Charles was a good teacher and a good encourager when it counted. Thomas and Charles also spent much time alone together, working hard to rebuild whatever was previously lost in their relationship. One day, three weeks after Charles' arrival, Elizabeth entered the study in time to see Charles and Thomas exchange a warm, brotherly embrace. She left as silently and as unnoticed as she had entered and missed the conversation which ensued. "Let us never part on such ugly terms again, Charles", Thomas entreated earnestly. "Quite so, brother", Charles agreed, "you have my word on it. We were all different people then, and I see now that it is wrong for the past to chain us any longer." And so all was mended.  
  
A few days later, Charles found himself wandering the main courtyard of his former home of many years ago. Hearing voices in the outer yard, he ambled over to investigate, suspecting that it sounded like his rambunctious nephews and niece, though which of the boys it was, he couldn't be too sure. On arrival he was met with the sight of Richard earnestly giving personal pointers to Cedric and Eleanor on their jousting techniques. He watched the exchange with interest, impressed with Richard's care of his younger siblings which occasionally showed itself. "That's right, Eleanor, keep your arm up. That's it! Well done."  
  
"Can I try again, Richard?" Cedric asked, keenly. Richard eyed him suspiciously whilst still trying to simultaneously watch over Eleanor who was happily trotting her horse round for another round. "I don't know, Cedric", he said, cautiously. "Do you promise not to lunge at me again?" "I didn't mean to the first time!", Cedric protested sheepishly. " I just got turned around a little." Richard raised an eyebrow at the relative understatement his little brother had just uttered, but said nothing for a moment. Finally he sighed and relented. "All right, Cedric. But you have to promise to be careful and for God's Sake, whatever you do, don't injure yourself or father will string me up! Just remember you're banned from ever learning jousting after that fiasco with Betty the cow, last year." "That wasn't my fault", Cedric mumbled to himself but his expression soon turned brighter as it dawned on him that he was about to get another turn. "All right, Eleanor - that's much improved but come down now and let Cedric try again." Richard called. Eleanor slowed her horse and looked round at her brothers in dismay. "But I'm in the mood for it now! And I wanted to show Uncle how much I'd improved before our next lesson." "That's all well and good, Sister, but it's time for Cedric to try his hand again, and let's face it, he needs a good deal more practice than you!" Cedric didn't bother to take any insult at the jibe. He was too excited at getting another stab at it (poor choice of words, though they were) and besides, it was perfectly true - he was hopeless at it. "Oh come on Richard! He'll never improve in the few hours we have left before supper.", she insisted. "I'll have you know, that you are talking to the master trainer, here. What I can't teach, can't be learnt!" Richard returned.   
  
"William swears he's better than you." Eleanor pointed out.  
"A likely lie - I taught him myself."  
"He says Father taught him."  
"Another lie.", he insisted, firmly.  
"On the very day Father took him to see the King whilst you were home in bed with a cold." Cedric piped up, adding his penny's worth.  
"And yet still more!" Richard exclaimed, shaking his head in shock at his brother's audacity.  
"Seriously, Richard - just a while yet, please." Eleanor begged.  
  
"I think I may have a solution to your problems, children", came a deep voice from behind them. They all turned (Eleanor rather awkwardly in her saddle) to see Charles watching them, hands on hips. "Uncle Charles!" Richard remarked in surprise. "I didn't hear you approach."  
"I'm not surprised, given that you were intent on a hot debate at the time. You must always keep aware, Richard - a lesson you should be teaching to the other two", he remonstrated, lightly. Richard felt his cheeks flush at the slight correction and strove to conceal his embarrassment. "Richard's been teaching us very well", Eleanor pointed out, usually delighted to see her older brother taken down a peg or two, but in this instance, unexpectedly dismayed at her uncle's remark. "Yes". Cedric added. "It's remarkable. Every now and then, we discover a use for him." "Thank-you, little brother", Richard answered a little snidely. "I'm sure you do, at that", their uncle agreed. "But for now I have a way to alleviate your problem. I propose that I take Cedric to continue with his sword-work, allowing Eleanor to continue her jousting under Richard's expert tutelage." Eleanor all but beamed at the suggestion though Cedric seemed somewhat downcast at proposal. "What a truly wonderful idea, Uncle Charles. How clever of you!" she remarked, cheerily. "I thought you might approve", Charles remarked, knowingly. "But Uncle," Cedric protested, "I'm sure I can get the hang of it if I'm just given the chance! It's not fair that I only have one try."  
  
"Life is not about fairness!" Charles corrected, sharply, slightly shocking the three of them. Then he continued more gently. "We must all learn to persevere with things in life, Cedric - even if we find them unpleasant. It is the measure of a true man. In any rate, I am sure I heard Richard remark that you were banned from jousting and I will not have your father's wishes flaunted." He finished, firmly, in a tone which broached no argument. Cedric and Richard had the sense to appear abashed at this statement, and glanced down at the ground, momentarily. When they dared glance up again, they saw that their uncle's stern expression had been replaced by a benign smile which they couldn't help but return - partly in relief that they were safe from their father's wrath for another day.   
"Come then, Cedric", his uncle said, kindly. "I believe I have a sword here that you can use."   
  
With that, he led the quieted Cedric through to the main courtyard. After locating a sword for Cedric to use, they commenced their lesson with a little more vigour than Cedric felt up to using. "Keep up, boy! Mind your feet! Remember to block and guard, Cedric - what's the matter with you?!" Charles kept up this barrage of remarks until Cedric's arms had begun to ache and his co-ordination had almost abandoned him completely, causing him to stumble over his own feet whilst attempting to circle his uncle. Finally, with a great sigh of frustration, his uncle called a halt to their practice as the exhausted (and much relieved) Cedric, leant against a wall to catch his breath.   
  
"What was all that about, Cedric?" Charles demanded. Cedric glanced up at him, ashamedly. "I don't know, Uncle. I tried my best but I kept wearing down." "Well you would not have been so tired if you had cut out all of that ridiculous thrusting and extravagant movements!" Charles declared in annoyance. He could not tolerate a poor performance from a pupil who knew better, especially one whom he had taught himself. "Look at your sword!" he continued, gesturing to where a good deal of the edge of Cedric's sword had been badly blunted during the fight. Cedric guiltily examined the blunted edge in question, wishing like anything that he could disappear into the ground rather than face this humiliation. He would even have preferred his scripture lessons at that time. He cursed himself, inwardly: he had wanted to please his uncle, very much. The man was the only person at Covington Cross who actually took his training seriously and Cedric had been determined not to let him down. "Well? What on Earth came over you today?" his uncle insisted, pulling Cedric's thoughts back to the situation at hand. His stomach was rolling over inside and he knew his cheeks were flaming. Still, he mumbled a reply - the truthful answer to the best of his knowledge. "Well, Richard was teaching me how to fight offensively. He said that it was common to try to fool your opponents with moves you don't intend to make..." he trailed off, awkwardly. He glanced up at Charles and was dismayed to see anger building in his black eyes.   
  
"You take the advice of a child who has never seen battle?!" he demanded, enraged. "You take that advice over mine? What, pray tell, have I been doing teaching you all these weeks? Have I been wasting my time? Clearly I have if you dismiss my words so easily! I try to train you to be the best, Cedric, but maybe your father was right: go back to your books!" Cedric cried out in dismay: "No, Uncle - please! I do listen to what you say and I CAN train to be a knight! The moves were working earlier when Richard showed them to me, it's just that you - " he stopped himself before he could say any more, but not in time enough to evade his uncle's returning question. "I what, Cedric?" The young man swallowed before mumbling: "Well, it's just that you were attacking a little harder than Richard was." Try a lot harder than Richard was, he wanted to add, but dared not. "And you expect your enemies to be so lenient on you when you go to battle, hmm? You expect the French to act with courtesy and chivalry?" Charles demanded, forcing Cedric's chin up to make the boy look at him. Cedric met him squarely in the eyes, determined not to appear a coward.  
  
A boot scuffed the hard ground behind them. Charles released Cedric and turned to see the source of the interruption. When he had moved aside, Cedric almost groaned to see who it was standing there, looking rather upset if truth be told, and more than a little curious. Richard had begun to hear the commotion from the outer yard and when he realised that the voices were not kind or constructive, but rather angry and bitter he had immediately left Eleanor to her manoeuvres and gone to investigate. The sight of his uncle, heatedly berating Cedric (for what, he was not quite sure), was not a pleasing one to Richard who felt he alone was permitted to make Cedric feel uncomfortable. He was determined not to go in there on the offensive and to control his temper until he had learned what was going on (a very difficult thing for him to do, in any event). After all, it was quite possible that his little brother deserved the lecture and this was his father's brother, after all - not a stranger.   
  
Charles' anger did not seem to dissolve with the arrival of Richard; instead it seemed to change focus slightly. "What's going on, Uncle?" Richard asked, as mildly as possible. Cedric cut in as hastily as he could, hoping that Richard would accept his explanation and go away. Quickly, before their uncle decided to turn his anger on Richard as well. "I wasn't performing as well as I should have been in my sword-play." he explained, silently begging Richard to leave it at that. Naturally, things could never have been that easy. Richard bristled at the treatment of his baby brother. "Cedric was doing very well this morning", he insisted, just a touch of hardness in his voice. "I've been helping him myself and I thought he was making good progress." Of all the wrong things, at the wrong times to say, Richard had them both mastered. "If he progressed at all, it was into a spectacle at a fair-ground!" Charles, barked, turning to face Richard, squarely. "You had no business to interfere, boy!"  
"And you have no business chiding him like that!" Richard spat back, his temper fully riled, now. "Please, Richard!" Cedric pleaded, "it really doesn't matter now. Please just leave it. Uncle", he said, turning to address Charles, "Richard was only trying to be kind, not to replace what you were teaching me. Please can we forget this?" Richard knew when Cedric would really prefer to have the subject drop and so reluctantly, he complied. Charles, too calmed down and began to back off from the tension. "Very well, Cedric. Richard, I trust we may also put this matter to rest? Your intentions were well-meant, as I assure you, were mine." Richard nodded slightly and smiled as sincerely as he could. "Of course. I ...apologise, Uncle.", he managed to get out. Cedric shot him an appreciative look which he didn't miss.  
  
"Right then!" Charles began again, his mood now abruptly lighter, "you must replace that sword, Cedric and now that you are rested, we will resume our lesson." "Yes, Uncle", he agreed hastily, glad that they were all on friendly terms again. "You can borrow one of mine, Cedric", Richard offered. Charles smiled slightly. "That is very generous, but I feel that for the time being, Cedric should not perhaps use a sword of particularly...." he trailed off, not wanting to appear tactless. Finally he came up with "of particularly great value. I am sure there are some older varieties about the castle?" He looked at Cedric's crestfallen expression. "Now Cedric, Richard will tell you that we all have used older swords for training at one time in our lives. Besides, I want you to practice with the heavier weapons - it will be good practice for your balance and stamina." Cedric saw that Richard was genuinely agreeing with his uncle and so brightened up a little. "Good!" his uncle said, approvingly. "Now where might these be around the castle?" He looked to Cedric expectantly, who was beginning to look rather uncomfortable again. He muttered something so quietly that Charles was forced to exclaim: "Speak up, boy! I can barely hear you." Cedric repeated himself, a little louder this time. "There's some which the guards keep in the dungeons." "Splendid! Go down and fetch one and return to me immediately. We have an hour till supper and I am sure to make you the finest swordsman in the kingdom before that time." Cedric shot an apprehensive glance towards the low windows in the castle wall, which gave what little illumination could be offered on the dark passages down to the castle's dungeons. Still, he remained where he was, nervously rocking from ball to heel and back again. Richard understood immediately.  
  
"Cedric doesn't like the dungeons", he explained, quietly to Charles, "he never has. I'll go."  
"Nonsense", Charles said, holding a hand out in front of Richard to stop his exit. "Fears are meant to be overcome and we cannot have a man who would be a knight, hindered by such childhood fears, can we?" Cedric was not sure if it was meant to be a rhetorical question or not, but past experience had taught him that it was always wise to assume the latter. "No, Uncle", he agreed, quietly. "Right then. You will please go down and fetch up a sword so that we may begin again. I do believe we have already been delayed a deal already." And who's fault was THAT? Richard thought, irritably. Still, Charles was beaming at Cedric's response, and despite his misgivings about dank and horrible dungeons, Cedric could not help but feel pleased and proud at the reaction he had elicited from his uncle. "Good man! We'll make a knight out of you yet! Chain you to those books, indeed - we'll have that father of yours seeing sense in no time!" Cedric smiled shyly in response to the praise and then headed off to the stone stairs that would lead him down into the setting of many a personal nightmare.  
  
He had begun taking deep breaths the moment the stale air of the cells had assaulted his senses. Quickly realising that this was not an appropriate method to calm himself with considering the source of agitation, he changed to short, shallow breaths and instead considered just closing his eyes against the semi-darkness. Again, not a practical solution unless he wanted to feel his way along walls where anything could be growing or crawling , (an irrational fear as the dungeons at Covington Cross were surprisingly well kept up). Finally, he just settled on not thinking of what could be lurking down here, or more to the point, trying to ignore whatever it was that chilled him to the bone whenever he was forced to come down here.  
  
All the cells were empty (as they usually were) and he could see the pile of old armoury against the end wall, not far in the distance. But it was something about the end cell which had always frightened him the most: of all the places for the cursed swords to be! He stood, planted to the ground, his legs not obeying the rather feeble command his head was giving them to move forwards. "This is ridiculous", he said aloud, hoping that the sound of his own voice would comfort him. It didn't - it only made him alarmingly aware of how alone and quiet it was down there. Maybe his uncle had been right the first time, maybe he should just stick to his books if he was that much of a coward? A sudden noise behind him made him spin blindly in the near darkness. "Who's there?!" he cried out, a small part of his mind telling him that it would most likely only be a rat. It was no rat. Or at least he wouldn't define it as such on this particular occasion. "Relax, Cedric - it's only me." Richard assured him, calmingly. Cedric let out a great sigh of relief. "Thank God - you have no idea what I've been imagining down here. What are you doing here?" "What do you think? It was unfair of uncle to get you to come down here in the first place. I'm just keeping you company."  
  
"It wasn't unfair to try to make me stop acting like a pathetic child!" Cedric complained, bitterly. "Well, I say it was. Everyone has things they don't like. Except him, apparently. Well I'd like to see him tested on an ultimate fear and see how well he fared in the face of adversity." Cedric had never seen his brother quite so rallied to any cause of his, but he wasn't about to reject him. Instead he just contented himself with the company and let the issue with their uncle drop.  
  
"I see the swords over there", Richard pointed out, indicating the pile by the wall.  
"Yes." Cedric agreed as they carefully made their way towards them. They looked a little worse for wear and very dulled, but they seemed in generally good condition. Even some of the handles almost looked like the original metals they were made with, not a match for the greenish-grey of the stone wall they leant against. He examined them as quickly as he could, before retracting one close to the surface of the heap and moving away hastily. "This will do", he exclaimed with as much conviction as he could muster. Richard cast an appraising eye over it. "Are you sure this will hold together?" he asked uncertainly.  
  
"Yes!" Cedric returned, defensively, eager to leave that place. Frankly he didn't care if the blade was attached to the handle by twine as long as they could examine it in the warm light of the sun. This place was oppressing to him to say the least. Richard sighed in understanding. "Alright, Cedric - let's go back. This will have to do. What use these will ever be if there is a riot down here, I'll never know." "At least they'd be harmless if the prisoners ever got hold of them", Cedric joked, nervously. "I suppose so. Cedric, I've never understood what you don't like about this place. It's really not that bad."  
  
"It's dank, dark, horrible and full of decay!" Cedric protested. Richard considered his remarks and had to concede to at least a couple of his points. "True, I suppose, but they aren't all in such bad condition. See," he said, pointing to a lighter patch in the wall of the end cell, "this one's even been repaired. Now how many dungeons have that homely care?"  
Cedric looked at him, almost incredulously. "It's only so the prisoners trapped in there can't escape." "Again, you may have a point. But don't forget that he probably was chained to the wall in any event, so a gaping hole in the side would only have been a bitter irony." He draped a casual arm around his little brother's shoulders as he turned them round and led them back up to the uneven stone steps. "Oh, thank-you, Richard!" Cedric shot back, irritably.  
"In fact", Richard continued, clearly enjoying this new turn in the conversation, "I believe that some of them would have had their feet removed when they first came in." "Remind me again why you came down here?" Cedric demanded as Richard began chuckling. One can only have so much sweetness, he considered mildly.  
  
The rest of practice had been blissfully uneventful. However, by the time they had finished, Cedric was thoroughly exhausted - battling personal demons and his uncle all on the same day, could take a lot out of him. It was with great relief, therefore when he finally sat down to supper that evening - a fine spread of mutton and assorted dishes which were crowed into the middle of the table and causing every occupant's mouth to water. Thomas, however would not say Grace and allow them to start. Richard and William tried regardless and were rewarded with a sharp verbal reprimand. They wisely did not try again. The reason for this most irritating delay it seemed, was the absence of Charles whom Thomas would not begin without. Several long moments had passed since they had been seated and several more fingers had scrumptiously inched their way towards the food, when Thomas decided to take action, rather than sit and wait. "Perhaps he has forgotten the time? Cedric, you were last with him - did he give any indication where he was going?"  
  
"After Cedric's sword-practice?" William cut in, "probably drowning his sorrows in despair."  
"That's not funny, William", Richard said quietly, surprising his brother who was usually the one to tell Richard to back off from teasing the baby of the family. Thomas paid him no heed, instead continuing to look at Cedric for an answer. "Uh, he didn't really mention anything specifically. Perhaps he is just resting?" Thomas considered this for a moment. "Maybe. See if you can fetch him, Cedric - and hurry or this food will quickly go cold." The young man sighed wearily but rose to his feet (aching though they were) and went in search of his uncle, all the while wondering why William, who had been wearing out nothing more strenuous than his fingers that day, could not have been sent in his place.  
  
Carefully, he climbed the winding steps up to the turret rooms where his uncle was temporarily lodged. He had never really frequented this part of the castle, but Charles had often played in this part as a boy and so Thomas had decided that he might like to stay there for his duration at Covington Cross. Charles seemed to like his solitude at times and this suited him perfectly, as even now few people rarely came this way. Now that he thought of it, he was fairly happy about the situation himself, given that he would rather avoid bumping into his uncle for the time being. The lesson that day had ended well, but Cedric could not help but feel that there were times when his uncle did not seem quite himself, and to be honest, he was a little afraid of that man. As he reached the top of the flight of steps, it opened out onto a fairly small circular landing with two oak doors in front of him. Torches were mounted on the walls above his head, imperative for negotiating those stairs at night lest one should trip and break their necks, but standing idle and unlit since the warm summer sun rendered them temporarily useless.   
  
The air held a stillness up there that he wasn't used to in the usually hectic but warm rooms of the main castle. It unnerved him, he decided, almost as much as the dungeons had and he hastily set about ascertaining whether his uncle was in his room or not. As he took a step forward however, the slit window caught his eye. He moved towards it, leaning as far over as he could on the sloping sill to survey the grounds beneath him. He was at a side of the castle, rarely visited and the grounds the window looked out over were also rarely trodden. That is why he was surprised to see a solitary figure moving quickly and quietly across the grounds and towards the forest's edge. His pace and movements seemed agitated and his back was towards him, a hood obscuring his face, regardless. That is if it was even a man - Cedric couldn't be sure what the gender was but he didn't recognise the height or build as anyone from Covington Cross - servant or otherwise. The figure stole into the depths of the forest - parts so dense with overhanging trees, that the sun barely shone through and the rain which sometimes poured at night, left the grounds almost marshy.   
  
He wondered what this stranger could have been doing and whether perhaps he should tell anyone of what he had seen. The rumble of his stomach told him otherwise and reminded him that there were four other people waiting downstairs who were more than likely becoming increasingly fed up. A hungry Richard was not a happy Richard, he mused. He strode to the door and rapped on it firmly. No reply was forthcoming so he tried again and called out this time, for good measure. "Uncle? Are you in there? Father has sent me to fetch you for supper." He knew Charles usually always kept his door bolted, but he tentatively tried it anyway. He was right, it didn't budge. He felt very frustrated at that moment. Turning around, he lent against the door and considered where to try next. As his thoughts began to drift to stables and fields, his gaze came to rest on the smaller oak door opposite. As far as he knew, it led only up to some storage rooms which were sometimes utilised for barrels of wine. Not for a very long time, though - not since Richard had locked William up there as children and then not been able to unlock the door. It had been over a day before he had eventually escaped (half of the time spent in there was due to neither boy wanting to confess what they'd done to their father and trying desperately to solve the situation themselves). Since then, the room, like much of the turret, had become disused but what Cedric noticed now, was that the dust on the iron ringed handle had been dislodged and the floor beneath the door held the signs of recent use. Curiously, he moved towards it, taking the rusty iron handle in both hands. Even as he turned the handle and leaned his weight backwards, he didn't expect any result and almost yelped in surprise when the door slowly but surely creaked open.   
  
Forgetting his uncle for the moment, forgetting even his irate family impatiently waiting downstairs, Cedric ever so cautiously made his way up this second flight of steps, one by one. This staircase was less than half the width of the first one (if such a thing were possible) and at one point, he almost feared that he would get stuck between both walls. As it was, he could not see how barrels of wine were ever transported up here. There were no windows up here, and therefore the darkness was almost pure pitch and the air was heavy and musty. He felt his way in the darkness, wishing he could see just a little way in front of him, all the while leaning heavily on the left hand wall and feeling for any kind of guiding rope or rail on either side. From what he could feel of the occasional small iron ring along the walls, there undoubtedly was once a rope threaded along and all the way up, but that was either wasted away, or had been purposefully removed - perhaps by his father, though he couldn't see why. One thing he was sure of, though, whoever was using this room must know these stairs by heart, for some were treacherously uneven and he swore to himself this would be the only journey up here he would make.  
  
The occupants of the dining hall shuffled restlessly on their seats. The bickering was becoming almost violent and Thomas had already moved Eleanor to the other side of Richard in an attempt to break the fight between her and William. It had worked too, and now Richard had successfully taken his brother's place in the argument. "How long does it take?!" William said, suddenly miserably kicking the table leg which caused another glare from Thomas. "Patience all of you", Thomas replied, tightly, though his own was wearing thin, "he has probably had to venture out of doors." "Knowing Cedric he's gotten lost", William muttered as they resumed kicking the table and drumming their fingers.  
  
  
The steps seemed to go on forever, though Cedric surmised that that could just be his imagination but either way he was soon becoming sick of his ascent. He didn't even know Covington Cross went up this high and without a window he couldn't even gauge how high he was. His mind was just turning to heading back when without warning, his raised foot did not come down on a higher level but came to rest on the same level as its companion, stubbing itself rudely against a door in the process. Cedric was suddenly filled with dismay: another door! He hadn't even considered that and if that one was locked, then he had climbed all that way (however far that may be) for nothing! If it was unlocked, did the door open outwards or in? He didn't feel balanced enough to lean any of his weight backwards in case he should fall down. Down: that notion was suddenly very depressing, either climbing or falling. Deciding that he would not come all that way for a wasted journey, he twisted the ring handle and (hoping it was the correct way) pushed as hard as he dared. At first nothing happened - the door remained stubbornly in place, almost taunting him. However Cedric was beginning to learn that giving up easily did not always bring the most fruitful rewards. He made sure his feet were as firmly planted on the narrow top step as they could be, then braced his shoulder against the door and with as much strength as he could muster, he leant his weight (insignificant as it may have been) into the frame. With a heave and a fair amount of protesting, the door finally pushed open to the utter astonishment and great relief, of Cedric. As it did so, however and he peered into the gloom, his eyes fighting to adjust to the light, it occurred to him that the one thing he had failed to consider on his laborious climb, was what was awaiting him inside.  
  
As caution of the unknown overcame him, his heart began to race ever so slightly. He waited to hear whether anyone was inside, listening for any sound that would have given the occupant away: breathing, rustling, footsteps. As his vision adjusted and his ears gave him no reason to think differently, he came to the conclusion that he was indeed alone up there. Not wanting to stand so precariously at the top of the steps, he carefully ventured into the turret room. Though cobwebs hung from the ceiling and corners like macabre festoons, and a layer of thick dust coated the floor, he could tell that the room had been occupied and recently. The lock appeared newly fitted as if the occupier cared a great deal about keeping this room sealed. He wondered what had happened that day that had caused this person to leave so hastily that they forgot to lock both doors.  
  
The room itself was incredibly small and cramped. A slight window in the far wall let in a surprisingly small amount of sunshine. It was only when Cedric took a good look at the outside that it dawned on him how late it had become and how long he had been away from the table. He considered that he wouldn't be at all amazed if he came downstairs to a bloodbath at the table, Grays scattered everywhere. However, he simply could not obey his conscience and leave just yet - this was his reward for his inquisitiveness and he was going to enjoy it as much as he could. Despite his curiosity though, he discovered that there wasn't a great deal to see. It appeared to be a storage room of rather odd and miscellancious items.   
A large wooden chest with dulled bronze hinges and locks stood alone in the far left hand corner of the room. It looked almost impenetrable and he didn't think it was even worth trying that. Small, low tables ran along both walls on either side of the room, bare and uncovered except for the assorted boxes and leather and cloth purses which contained he knew not what, that were scattered in an attempt at order over their surfaces. He could just about make out items such as jewellery poking out from some of them. Paintings and tapestries, covered and rolled up, stood against the right hand wall and lay at the base of the left hand one. If Cedric was any judge, they looked expensive and he wondered why they would be shut away up here.  
  
As he continued to walk about the room exploring, he came across what looked like women's articles of clothing though they appeared older than the current fashion seemed to be, at least as far as he had noticed and he admitted that he never really gave the matter much thought - it was usually what was in the dress that caught his attention. As he finished his circle of the small room, he was disappointed that nothing had particularly grabbed his interest. He walked slowly up the left hand wall, running his fingers lightly over the boxes on the tables. As he got to the end box however, he stopped and picked up what he saw lying there. Rolls of parchment had been protruding through the lid of a small chest and the words almost leapt out at him from the page, though at first he couldn't think why. Now that he had the parchment in hand and was holding it as close to whatever light there was, as possible, he could see that while he didn't recognise it, the writing style was familiar. The words too, now struck a sudden cord of recognition. They were the very same quotes which he had thought of writing for Lily, what seemed like ages ago. Nan had certainly showed him where to find the most passionate and sincere love poetry that he had ever read.   
  
The letters were tied in a bundle and hastily, he began to ease the knot of the binding twine open. Suddenly and without warning, he yelped in surprise as sharp hands snatched the letters away from him. Spinning around he saw Charles standing in front of him, arms folded and glowering at him. "What do you think you are doing in here?" he asked, slowly and dangerously. Cedric's heart was still racing but he gulped and answered, "I..I was sent to look for you. Supper..supper's ready", he trailed off, hopelessly. "Is that so?" Charles remarked, coldly.   
  
"What is all this?" Cedric asked, nervously.  
"Storage space." Charles answered, shortly. "Surely you can't expect a man to fit all of his belongings in that tiny room downstairs?" Cedric quickly shook his head in agreement. He tried desperately to change the topic. "Uh, your feet are muddy, Uncle", he pointed out, noticing the thick layer of mud which coated his soles. "I'm sure father has a pair that you could borrow for supper." "What does it concern you about my feet?" Charles asked sharply. "No reason", Cedric amended, hastily. "I just saw someone.." he trailed off, feeling foolish and squirmed under the sharp look that Charles gave him. "Saw what?" he demanded, quickly. Cedric began to feel quite afraid though he told himself it was irrationally so. This was his own family after all. Still, he could not help but feel that Charles' reaction to his invasion of privacy was a little too heart-felt. Carefully, Charles replaced the letters in the chest.   
  
"This is my property", he said, "I would appreciate it if you stayed out of it." "Of course! I only looked at it because I recognised it - well not the letter, but the poetry." Again Charles' look that he gave him was so severe that it made Cedric back up a step. "Where did you see it, Cedric? Who showed them to you?" he asked, much calmer now. Cedric could sense however that this abrupt serenity was merely floating precariously on the surface of his uncles' question. He did not know why, but the shift within his uncle had been startlingly pronounced and though his façade was once again friendly, something had forever changed in Charles Gray; something remaining under the surface, deeply buried yet forever in some level, present in the eyes of Cedric. He weighed his answer carefully. He had promised Nan never to reveal her to anyone and something was telling him that now was not a time to go breaking his word. "No one", he replied at length, "I had some spare time in my lessons whilst the Friar was called away. The books were in the library and I just started reading." Charles' expression was soft and jovial but his eyes told a different story. Still Cedric was immensely glad that they were back on friendly terms again as Charles once again became his usual self.   
"If we do not hurry I suppose, supper will be all but ruined! I will take your fine suggestion and borrow a pair of your father's boots for dinner. What would we do without you here, eh Cedric?"  
  
  
Thomas leant back in his chair in the Great Hall and pushed the haphazard pile of papers that scattered his desk, away from him. He had been working at the accounts all morning and was no nearer to balancing the finances then he was when he had begun. Not that they were in any financial difficulties, but things could be a little smoother. He glanced up as the main door opened and William strode through. "Ah, good morning, William. Tell me, how goes the wool contract with the Blackwoods? Do they appear to favour us yet?"  
"Not yet, but I have good hopes. It will be a hard sale but not one that I am not capable of closing." "Splendid. We could do with the extra insurance. Do we have anything which he is particularly interested in?" William considered for a moment. "He liked Eleanor", he said finally. "I don't know why," he added.   
"Pig!" she called from the other end of the room.  
"Wench!" he shot back, just as calmly, not even batting an eyelid.  
"William!" Sir Thomas remonstrated. "Don't call your sister a wench!"  
"She called me a pig," he protested.  
"Well, maybe but that, that is not the issue," he insisted.  
"Yes -toad!"   
"Hussie!"  
"William!!"  
"Yes, William!"  
"Eleanor!"   
"Father!"  
  
"Ah - the sweet harmony discord! Good morning family." Richard sauntered merrily into the room from the courtyard. They all stopped the flying accusations and turned to see the owner of the voice. "Ah, Richard, I'm glad you're here", Sir Thomas started, forgetting the earlier conversation. "Have you seen your brother today?" He interrupted sharply as he saw Richard's mouth open for the obvious reply, "the other one!" Richard shut his mouth again and thought for a moment, "Yes, he's hiding from the Friar."  
"Splendid! Well, not splendid but it will do for the moment. We don't by any chance know where, do we?" Richard thought again. "In the stables, I believe."  
"Good, good. Would you be so kind as to fetch him? That is if you have nothing more pressing to take care of?" "Yes, brother," William cut in, "such as helping me with the Blackwood sale. Fortunately for you though, I could run this business single-handedly."  
"Yes, that's enough William." Thomas put in before another argument began, "Richard, please tell him to come to the main hall immediately." "Yes, Father." Richard agreed before sauntering back out again.  
  
If he hadn't already known that Cedric was hiding in the stables, the sound of giggling young girls, was always a sure giveaway. Just follow the trail, he thought to himself. He stood outside the stable entranceway and found that he just couldn't help himself. "It's all right, Friar! He's over here!" he called to no one in particular, "Oh - you want to go in and fetch him? Well if you insist." That did the trick. With a squeal (presumably from the girl) and a deal of rustling, one dishevelled young maiden came scrambling out of the hay, barely even glancing at Richard as she brushed past him in her haste to escape. Richard quickly ran around to the back entrance to the stable and was promptly rewarded by a panicked Cedric running straight into him as he stood there, arms folded across his chest, grinning from ear to ear. With a startled cry, Cedric had stopped short at the collision, still looking nervously about in search of his supposed pursuer. Richard's grin told him otherwise. "That's not funny!" he protested, vehemently scowling his darkest scowl. "I was really getting along with Melinda!"  
  
"I was merely saving your soul, Cedric. You can thank me later. Right now, Father wants you to come to the main hall immediately." "What for?" he asked, forgetting to remain angry with him. "Don't know. You'll have to ask him, won't you? And come up with another excuse" he added as he turned to leave. Cedric sighed: this wasn't going to be the best of days, he could tell. He was also uncannily correct.  
  
He pushed open the main door tentatively and walked inside. Thomas was there, sitting at the table, still shuffling papers in an agitated manner. He looked pleased to see him when he walked in, however, if perhaps a little distracted. "Cedric - good, I'm glad you are here. I have some news for you." "Yes, Father?" Cedric asked hopefully, glad it was not a lecture and his curiosity piqued. Thomas continued, "Do you remember some weeks ago, your uncle had some news that he might need to travel to Chester to settle some old business affairs?" He waited for Cedric to indicate the affirmative which he did with a slight nod. "Well he has since heard that he will indeed have to visit for a few days and process some old debts owed and so forth, in the courts. He proposed that the visit would be a very beneficial and educational one for you, too and I have agreed. Therefore you leave for Chester this very day." Cedric couldn't help but grin at the news. He was finally going to get out of Covington Cross to somewhere farther than the local village! And it appeared his uncle must value him greater than he thought, if he wanted Cedric around on matters of politics. "When do I leave?" he asked excitedly. "Around noon", his father replied, pleased at seeing his youngest so happy. "Be sure to be packed in time", he reminded him, just in time too, as Cedric had practically spun on his heel and raced out of the room.  
  
Cedric couldn't contain his excitement as he raced in search of the Friar to inform him of his legitimate excuse for abandoning his lessons yet again. He found him at prayer in the chapel and had the good grace to wait respectively by the entrance way until presently, the Friar crossed himself, rose and made for the exit, bowing to the altar as he passed it. The Friar, who had missed nothing, had heard Cedric enter and without even looking round, had known that it was him. Now he approached the young man patiently but with a sense of wariness. He was rarely sought after by Cedric for anything, after all. "Friar! Wonderful news", he proclaimed happily. "Really?"  
  
"I am to go to Chester with my uncle. He has great use of me in political affairs. He says I'm his right-hand man." The Friar could not bring himself to dampen his young pupil's mood in any way, though it was apparent that yet more of his studies would be missed. He sighed, but more in exasperation than unkindly. "I am glad for you, Cedric. I just worry that at this rate, we will never progress past Book 4 of the Aenied. If you seem to remember, we have been laboriously working on this for the better part of a year." Cedric smiled dismissively, giving the Friar a reassuring pat on the back. "Don't worry, Friar, I've already figured out what happens. He marries Dido, they raise a family, and he lives with her as King to her Queen for the rest of the book", he explained, happily. The Friar shook his head in mild dismay. "Cedric, do not assume everything in life is as black and white as you would like it to be. If we delve a little deeper into things we discover that they are not nearly as we first imagined them." He could see he was losing this particular point on Cedric at the moment and so he gave in to the boy's enthusiasm. "Very well, Cedric. Thank you for venturing to tell me of your pending absence. Have a safe journey." "I will, Friar, and don't worry - 'The Aenied' will wait," he grinned as he headed out of the chapel. "It will have to", the Friar remarked to the silence of the exiting boy, "for youth certainly waits for no man."  
  
After regaling William and Richard with tales of his approaching expedition, he hurried upstairs to pack, leaving his two brothers somewhat envious but gallantly trying to conceal it. He threw a few items of clothing randomly into a travelling overnight bag. He wasn't sure if he would be required to dress formally but if they were going into courts then there was a chance he would have to. He was a little dismayed at this. He was sure that he had the appropriate clothing somewhere, but he had no idea what it may be. He was so rarely involved in business like this, that his father had never really bothered trying to instruct him before. He thought back to those times when he had watched his older brothers leave for important business but he had never paid their attire close attention. He could always ask his father or brothers, he supposed, but a stubborn part of him was determined to do this on his own - prove that he was as mature as his uncle obviously thought him. He began to wonder if Lady Elizabeth was about the castle that day. She was frequently amongst the heights of fashion and she was very well informed on up to date matters of etiquette. He set off from his room, wandering around in a half-hearted attempt to find her.  
  
As he left the immediate grounds of the castle and found himself strolling the more distant areas of the estate, he was interrupted from his thoughts, by the feeling of a presence near him, as if he were being watched intently. Trees and undergrowth lined one side of his path and on the other, flowed a bubbling spring, running alongside another stretch of forest. He stopped short and waited for a moment, listening intently. Sure enough, the noise stopped with him. He waited with baited breath for any form of wildlife to appear scuttling from the shrubbery. None were forthcoming and his heart began to announce its presence a little more noticeably in his chest. He continued walking a few paces more and the noise began again - a rustling and murmuring, or it could have been breathing - controlled and measured, purposeful as though from a creature who was there for a determined reason. He had wandered far from the grounds and at this juncture, he was most certainly alone. No one was around to hear him call, even if he could manage to find his voice. With a last ditch effort to persuade himself that everything was in his imagination, he continued on his way, a little more hastily than he had begun his amble. If anything, the noise became worse, more urgent as whatever was there, picked up its pace and its desperation. Cedric could positively feel this thing's eyes boring into him and at the definite sound of a branch snapping in the undergrowth to the side of him, he finally called out, with more bravado than he was feeling, "Who's there?" There was no answer as everything suddenly became eerily still and quiet - even the birds. "If that's either of you Richard or William, then you're not scaring me at all. In fact this is very old and unoriginal of you."   
  
He sincerely hoped he was just talking to himself, and had actually managed to convince himself that he must be going mad when he heard the unmistakable sound of a foot step behind him. Before he could react, he felt a hand hover above his shoulder and at that point, he found his senses again. With a sharp intake of breath, he spun around, his heart in his throat, ready to defend himself as best he could. He stopped short at the sight before him. There stood Nan, quite alone and defenceless, regarding him with a very worried expression.   
  
"Cedric. What's wrong?" she asked, earnestly. Cedric let out the breath he'd been holding, but he didn't relax and instead began scouring the bushes. "Be careful, Nan", he warned, moving in front of her slightly in an effort to protect her from he knew not what. "You didn't see any one in the bushes over there, did you?" he continued. She looked at him in alarm. "No, no one. Are you sure you did not simply hear my approach? I noticed you from across the river and crossed over at the nearest bridge." Cedric shook his head, though somewhat uncertainly, "No, I was sure it was someone else. Not an animal, either. That's what Richard or William would have said, but I do know the difference between a man and an animal and this was definitely a man." "Who do you think it could have been?" she asked him, sincerely, concern shining through her bright eyes. "I don't know", he admitted. Then he noticed her agitated manner and was suddenly dismayed that he had upset her. It had been over a month since he had last seen her - not since that day in the orchards, and he did not want to drive her away again. "I could be wrong, of course. I have been known to be so", he joked, weakly. She smiled slightly at him, clearly not happy with letting the matter drop. "Honestly", he assured her, "if it was any one, then it was one of my brothers. I'll find out when I get back to the castle. Oh yes!" he exclaimed in sudden memory, "I almost forgot what I had wanted to tell you. Well, ask you really, I just wasn't sure if I would find you today." Nan looked at him patiently, amused by his enthusiasm. "I am finally to leave Covington Cross on official business! My uncle has asked me to accompany him to the shire courts to settle his old debts."   
  
Her expression altered immediately, her pallor growing even paler than usual and her eyes about two shades darker. The transformation was positively alarming and her fear was almost infectious. For a moment, Cedric was afraid that she was dreadfully overcome with illness. "Nan! What's the matter?! Please tell me - are you ill? Should I take you back to the castle? We can send for a physician?" She shook her head quickly and wordlessly, holding one hand up to stay off his concerned advances. "Nothing is wrong with me, Cedric", she answered, almost tonelessly. However he could not relax at this for her eyes still bore into him with an intenseness he hadn't known she was capable of and the fear still remained embedded in that gaze. "You said you were leaving the grounds of Covington Cross?" she asked, sharply. He seemed a little confused at her line of questioning but decided to go along with her until he knew if she really needed help or not. "Yes", he answered. "We're going to Chester."  
"Who exactly?" she demanded, causing Cedric to squirm, rather uncomfortably under the pressure of her interrogation. "Just my Uncle Charles and I. He needs me there - thinks it will be good for my education. Father agrees."  
"Why not your brothers?" Cedric tried hard not to show his disappointment. Even Nan, of all people, doubted that he should be important or apt enough to concern himself with anything other than his school work. He had been sure she would have been thrilled for him after all the years he had been pouring his heart out to her. He became aware that she was still waiting for an answer and so, begrudgingly, gave her one. "I assumed that he did not need them there," he said, quietly, "I assumed that he only wanted me. You think I was wrong." It was a statement, not a question: he was feeling too crushed to question anything at that moment.   
  
Nan seemed too distracted to notice. "No, I think you are right, but for all the wrong reasons," she muttered causing Cedric to show a little curiosity instead of despondency. Before he could question her she continued quickly, "You must not leave the castle grounds, Cedric - promise me that you will stay here." His confusion was openly obvious now, "I don't understand, Nan. What are you worried about? I am only going with my uncle."  
"And what do you know of him?!" she demanded, vehemently. He was taken aback for a moment. "Enough", he replied, a little defensively. "He is my father's brother and a good man." "You know that do you?" She was angry now and nothing like the woman he once knew. "I have seen enough to know that, yes!" Cedric returned, adamantly.  
"You know nothing, Cedric", she insisted and inwardly he recoiled as if he had been slapped. "A man appears from your past and you ask him no questions - even about the parts of his past that you know about!"   
  
Cedric felt truly crushed, but he summoned the will to continue with Nan's tirade. "Father tells me it is impolite to ask so many questions", he replied defensively. Nan scoffed openly at this. "Impolite! Foolish more like it. You did not think there were some questions which needed to be asked?" Despite his anger and growing despair, Cedric could not help but be compelled to hear what she had to say. "What questions?" he asked, carefully. Seeing that she had his interest, she continued, earnestly. "Everything. What of Mary?"  
"Mary?" he repeated, uncertain of how Nan even knew these things.  
"Did anyone ever question?" she asked, almost begged, her eyes imploring him but for what, he couldn't tell. "I don't understand where this is coming from, Nan", he said, honestly. She sighed in frustration, though she had regained control of her temper. "I expected more, Cedric but he's right - you do only see in black and white!" He opened his mouth to protest but she silenced him with a gentle hand gesture. "Sometimes we must delve deeper into things, Cedric. But what ever you do, I beg you not to leave this place. You are safe here, under your father's protection." "Safe from what?" he questioned, alarm and curiosity beginning to set in side by side. She regarded him sadly for a moment, brushing a strand of hair away from his face, "I am not entirely certain. Perhaps nothing", she admitted, "but promise me that you will stay aware and that you will remain within the grounds - whatever you do." All her anger was gone now, only her original fear and desperation remained and despite her words causing him so much pain, previously, Cedric could feel nothing but sympathy for her now. He almost surprised himself when he assented to her request, nodding silently. She appeared satisfied with this, but remained uncertain about something. Suddenly a cry was heard in the distance: someone was headed this way. Nan looked around her, quickly. "It's all right, Nan," Cedric assured her, "I think it's only one of the servants." Still, she would not relax. "I must go now, Cedric," she said as she hastily gathered her skirts above her ankles and made for the forest edge. She paused and turned before she entered, "Please forgive me for anything I have said that has hurt you today. It was never my intention, but do remember our discussion." And with that last entreaty, she disappeared again. Cedric stood there for a few moments, trying to take in all that had happened. Then he remembered his earlier feeling of unease in that place and decided to make haste back towards the main castle grounds.  
  
When he eventually arrived back, his conversation with Nan was already beginning to fade from his thoughts - at least the urgency was wearing down. Besides, the closer he got to the castle, the more his thoughts turned to his trip to court. Granted it wasn't the king's court - not yet, anyway but he would work his way up to that. As he arrived at the courtyard, he saw a newly arrived carriage waiting by the entrance to the castle, the magnificent white horses, pulling at their restraints and stamping their feet impatiently at their desire to be on their way. At that moment, Cedric knew exactly how they felt and could only assume that this grand carriage was meant for his uncle and himself.  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Default Chapter Title

Title: Relative Strangers: 2/?  
Author: Polly Spencer  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies (please see Part One for full version)  
Notes: Well, I finally have a smidgen more to offer! I've slowed down over Christmas but hopefully I'll come up to speed soon. Thank you to those who r&r'd! It was much appreciated.  
  
  
  
Though his excitement had been duly dampened somewhat, Cedric could nonetheless, not remain still for much of the day. His original purpose of discovering the latest court fashions, had come to nothing, and so he contented himself with packing what he thought best: he could always double check with Charles before he left, he reasoned. Charles had some sudden dealings at Covington Cross to finish up with before they departed, and so the newly scheduled time was for early that evening. As he wandered idly through the stable yard, Cedric found himself wondering about the slight delay in their departure time. What business did Charles have at the castle? Though he knew Charles was frequently coming and going and that he sent many messages by personal messenger to several unknown men, as far as he was aware, no one knew who these men were: they certainly never came to the grounds, though they were obviously important business clients.   
  
At one time, a sealed letter of Charles' had fallen from his cloak folds and had remained unnoticed and unattended by all but Cedric. He had taken the letter with the intention of giving it to one of his father's messengers but when Charles had spied him with it a moment later, he had snatched it away from him in anger, his face red and his dark eyes, seemingly darker and forbidding. Cedric had been startled to say the least, and hastily assured his uncle that he had meant only to have it delivered, not to pry. Like receding shadows, the chilling grimness in his expression slowly melted away and a gracious smile spread across his face as he took the letter from Cedric, informing him that if he were ever to misplace a letter again, then would Cedric be so kind as to hand it directly to him.   
  
The afternoon sun was shining brightly and Cedric suddenly found the heat to be too intense for his liking. Across the hay-scattered yard was a large log, meant for firewood for the coming autumn nights and he wandered over to it and sat down, leaning into the shade of the stable house wall. He chewed distractedly on a piece of straw as his thoughts once again drifted to his uncle. Charles' business dealings aside, Cedric had been a little surprised when his father announced that his uncle had pushed the departure time back. After all, though it was still summer and the days were yet long there would not be far to travel before they would have to rest for the night. The weather might be amicable but the brigands certainly weren't and they would not be far out of Covington Cross before it would be unsafe to go on any further. Though he was eager to be away himself, he did not see much point in wasting an evening's drive - they would make better time if they waited till morning. Still, Charles had been insistent and if he were honest with himself, the matter was not great.   
  
He jumped suddenly as a shadow fell across his feet. Startled, he looked up quickly and was mildly surprised to discover that his initial alarm did not fade immediately upon recognizing its owner. "Well, Cedric, I've been looking for you", Charles began, cheerily. "Richard suggested that I might try the stables though he was decent enough not to tell me why!" He winked at the lad who had quickly blushed with embarrassment. "I was just, eh, getting some air", he explained. Charles chuckled, "No need to explain, my boy. I was wondering if you were all ready for our journey?" "Well, actually," Cedric said, "I was concerned that I hadn't packed suitable clothes." "Clothes, eh?" Charles replied, "Well I'm about to go through my wardrobe one last time, myself. Why don't you come along?" Cedric smiled gratefully and the gnawing in his stomach lessened as Charles lightly draped an arm around his shoulders and steered him towards the castle. "I thought you'd be ready, Uncle," Cedric pointed out as they walked. "I would have been," he remarked, "Only I never knew these grazing pastures of your father's had such near bog pits littered around them. I have finally gone to inspect the livestock your brothers so adamantly insist I see and I'm afraid my boots and trousers are quite covered in mud." Cedric looked down to see the thick layer of heavy mud which caked the bottom half of Charles' legs. The smallest of chills inexplicably shot through Cedric as a small voice in his head whispered, 'That's not true.'   
  
He had been to the pastures that day and they had been so dry from the weather, that he had thought to suggest increasing the water supply of the sheep to his brothers. The harder he thought, he realised that the only place in Covington Cross that would produce that kind of deep mud in this climate, was the forest edge on the far side of the grounds, where the thick overhanging trees and slight dip from the land above, meant that the rain often drained into the makeshift ditch, and rarely dried out. His mind turned back to that strange night in the turret room. His uncle's shoes had been covered with the same mud so he was certainly aware of its existence. Cedric's thoughts were beginning to turn in a direction that he was not quite comfortable with and he fought to remind himself that his suspicions were both irrational and unfair. After all, perhaps there was a part of the pastures that had been bogged? And even if he had been to the forest, there was no harm in that. Simply not understanding his uncle, was no reason to not trust him, the rational part of Cedric's mind told him.   
  
By now they had ducked inside one of the side doors to his uncle's turret and were winding their way up the narrow, uneven grey steps. Every now and then his uncle dipped his head to avoid the overhanging torch brackets as he led the way up, but Cedric was not burdened with the same inconvenience and made his way up the stairs with much less care, leaving his mind free to wander a path of its own. That path, it seemed, had inadvertedly wound its way back to Nan. With the tiniest of shudders, her words of caution came echoing back to Cedric and he mentally rebuked himself for having forgotten them earlier. He thought about their conversation and had to admit that he was curious about many things. Maybe Nan was right? Perhaps it would not be so wrong to ask questions?  
  
"Uncle?" He waited for Charles' sign to continue. Cedric thought for a moment. "What was Aunt Mary like?" Ahead of him, Charles paused ever so slightly and though he quickly continued climbing, his back had stiffened and remained so. With his back turned to him, Cedric could only imagine the expression on his uncle's face, but the expression in his voice alone when he spoke, was enough to make the young man feel uncomfortable. It was not cold - indeed there was a deal of warmth in his tone - but it was guarded and he almost imagined, angry. "Beautiful", he replied, succinctly, "kind. Carefree - almost wild at times." He trailed off into silence. "Did you love her very much?" Cedric asked, hesitantly. Had he been looking at him, Cedric would have seen the shadow which cast itself across his uncle's face, but even without sight, Cedric could feel its appearance. "More than she ever knew", Charles replied quietly, perhaps more to himself than to his nephew. "Is it true that you were the one to see her off?" Charles' voice was laced with regret. "It is."  
"Could she not have been made to stay?" Cedric wondered.  
"And then what? Keep her forever against her will?" he almost spat back. Then he relented a little, "She and I were not on the very best of terms then."   
  
Encouraged by the responses, Cedric felt a little emboldened. "Who was her lover?" he asked. All at once, Charles rounded on him and Cedric had to grab onto the window sill to maintain his balance. "That - boy - is none of your business!!" Though he had not shouted, his voice had been as hard as iron and he continued in a quieter tone, laced with the same hardness. "You do not ask such disrespectful questions of a lady - particularly of your own family." He fixed cold, dark eyes on the very nervous young man who could only nod his head wordlessly, his hanging jaw preventing any recognizable sounds from forming. After an agonizing pause, Charles seemed content to leave the matter at that, and they continued their walk to his room in silence.  
  
***  
  
The sun had sunk lower in the sky and the evening reds had begun to intricately lace the horizon. An hour remained at Covington Cross, and though Charles and Cedric were firmly back on amicable ground and the young man's packing had been successfully completed, Cedric had not been able to dismiss the unease which had nestled in his heart. The idea of an entire journey to Chester and back with only his uncle, was beginning to make him nervous. What if he angered him again? he wondered. What if his uncle had not truly forgiven him for his last outburst? The journey would be an uncomfortable one. He was looking forward to strengthening their relationship and to mending a few bridges, but the more he thought about it, the less he wanted to do it alone. Yes, he decided - given the recent disputes between them, Cedric would feel less awkward if they were not constantly alone together. If Richard or William were there, even for only part of the way, it would certainly help to smooth things over a little. What he did not acknowledge however - what he would not heed - was the little voice in the darkest parts of his mind: the voice which told him that he well and truly feared his uncle.  
  
"So how long will you be gone for, Uncle Charles?" Eleanor asked, casually as she lent against the wall by the fire place of the Great Hall. He looked up at her from his chair by the table and smiled. "Not too long I should think - a matter of weeks at the most. While I am away I expect you to keep up your jousting. Perhaps when I return, it will finally be time to test you against your brothers, eh?" She straightened from the wall, her face positively gleaming. "Do you really think so?" she asked, eagerly.   
"We shall see on my return, Eleanor," he replied calmly. "We might do well to check with your father as well." Her face fell ever so slightly. "It wouldn't do to have his two eldest sons injured in bed, now would it?" he said with a wink. "Who would shear the sheep?" That earned him the grin he had expected from her in return. "I will miss you when you're gone, Uncle." Eleanor said, suddenly serious. He patted her hand, gently - an action which little over a month ago would have caused her great offence and with anyone else, still might. Now, however, she was used to it - even appreciated it. Her whole family had discovered that there was something very disarming about Charles Gray - almost subterfuge. "As I will you, my dear," he assured her earnestly. She smiled shyly at him and glanced away. "And will you miss Cedric?" he enquired lightly. She laughed. "The little imp? It would be a deal quieter without him! Twice this week alone, I have heard Father threaten to send him to the Church within the week! It is just as well he maintains his poor progress with the Friar," she joked. Charles regarded her oddly for a moment. She shifted her feet a little under the look, half sure that he was following the jest with her but also feeling strangely awkward. Finally she smiled and relented: "Well, I suppose he is good company when he chooses to be!" She looked at him sadly for a moment. "You must not take family ties so lightly any more since...well since you and Father." "Indeed not," he agreed, gently.   
  
At that moment, a crash and a loud curse could be heard from upstairs in the Solar. They both turned to the noise. "God's Teeth! Confounded cross-bow!" Charles and Eleanor exchanged an amused glance. "I did warn him that I was having it restrung today and that it was in little parts across the solar floor." "It does not sound as if your Father heeded your advice too well." Charles remarked with mock gravity. "No, it doesn't, does it?" A look of concern suddenly crossed her face. "That was an awfully loud crash and cry - I do hope he hasn't damaged the cross-bow!" With that she raced off towards the solar, taking the stairs two at a time, whilst Charles simply watched her go, somewhat bemused at his niece's priorities.  
  
A throat cleared softly but rather insistently, behind him. He stood and turned on the spot to face who ever had just entered. Cedric stood a little way in to the Hall, his expression relaxed and casual, but his jaw line set and firm. It was obvious to Charles, that whatever his nephew had come to talk to him about, he was as determined about it as he had ever seen him be about anything. Charles folded his arms across his chest and stood, appraising the boy casually. He waited for Cedric to speak first and the young cleric wasn't sure if this was meant to unnerve him, or if it was a sign of respect. He preferred to choose the latter. "Uncle Charles," he began calmly, "I would like to discuss our trip to Chester." Charles' left eyebrow arched in supposed curiosity but still he remained silent. Cedric carried on regardless. "I have been thinking hard about the situation and I feel that perhaps it would be better if Richard and William were also to accompany us." The muscles in his uncle's jaw, tightened imperceptively and a sudden stillness overcame his entire body - it was as if he had been abruptly set in cold, hard stone. Apparently, his loss of physical movement was substituted with the return of his voice. "Really?" he asked, neutrally. "Might I ask why?"  
  
  
"Well, I don't really know that much about politics myself and my brothers would be much better able to help you. This way, I could still learn from the experience as well. All would benefit," he added for good measure. Charles remained silent for a moment, taking in what he had just heard. His face was almost unreadable and for a long moment, Cedric was sure his uncle would refuse and insist that they both left immediately. However, abruptly, Charles broke from his silence and his stillness. All at once he was a flurry of movement and life again, though irritation clearly lined his features. "If you think it best," he agreed, a little crossly, "though I had hoped you would be up to the challenge yourself. Clearly we must both wait a while yet before your sense of responsibility shows itself." Cedric was about to protest at this but stopped himself quickly, not really wanting to change the outcome of the conversation, although inside, his heart sunk at the loss of his uncle's respect. Regardless of the youth's efforts to curb his tongue, Charles had waved a hand to silence any protests he might have made. "They must be ready in great haste though or they will delay us even further! Nevertheless, it seems you have made a fair point." Cedric's heart lightened a little at this. "I shall speak with your father now and see if he will allow me to take Richard and William also. You had best seek them out in the event of your father's favourable permission." He gave a slight nod towards the door and Cedric turned and hurried off to comply, greatly relieved that Fortune appeared to be smiling on him again.  
  
***  
At long last, the entire entourage was ready and waiting by the carriage. William and Richard had been mildly surprised by their sudden involvement and William was sure he would be needed back at the castle, but he had obeyed his father's instructions and hastily prepared for the journey accordingly. Eleanor, of course, was upset at being left out, but as Charles pointed out, there would be little enough room for the boys and himself as it was without her as well. Richard also pointed out that the Courts were no place for a woman and earned himself a heavy scowl from his uncle, whilst Thomas placed a firm but gentle restraining hand on Eleanor's shoulder.   
  
As they climbed into the carriage, Thomas lent through the window to give them a last few instructions and to bid them safe passage. "Now remember," he said, as he had several times before, "I want you all to enjoy this trip and to come away all the better for it, but I also want you to mind your uncle and to do as he tells you. Though this instinct for obedience may not come naturally to you (as I am so..frequently reminded), I have hopes that it will learn to show itself for my brother's sake." They rolled their eyes and nodded their agreement appropriately. Thomas was aware that the response was the best he was likely to get and so decided to settle with it. "Very well then. God Speed, all of you. Try to return in one piece," he added. He embraced Charles lightly as he was last to climb up and they exchanged their own private farewells. "I wish you every success in your affairs, Charles."  
"Thank-you, Thomas."  
"Take care of them, Brother - I leave them in your hands."  
"I will, Thomas - you have my word. I assure you, they are as dear to me as they are to you." Then they exchanged fond smiles before finally parting company.  
  
As the horses were finally given leave to pull away, the carriage jerked forward as they slowly made their way out of the courtyard and through the gates of Covington Cross. Cedric leant back in his seat, glad of the luxury the padded seats of the carriage afforded him. Richard and William immediately began to discuss their trip with Charles, ignoring Cedric for the moment. He considered this to be fair enough, as they had not been informed of the details of the journey as he had been.   
  
His gaze travelled to the receding grounds of his father's castle. At least he assumed it was still his father's - as far as he knew, Charles had made no move to reclaim the property though it was his by birthright. On the road ahead of them, a cart of vegetables overturned, its contents spilling out onto the path. Their driver slowed them to a halt whilst men and women rushed to reload the cart and Cedric found that he now had an extra few moments to survey his home.   
  
As he stared at the familiar walls and grounds, an unshakeable feeling overcame him - a feeling telling him that this would be the last time he saw his home. Ahead of him, the road was almost cleared, and since the horse had bolted, the peasants were now struggling to shift the heavy cart off the way. Cedric tensed in his seat, as a little voice in his head - the one he had been consistently ignoring these past few days - told him that this was a last chance opportunity. Last chance to call the whole thing off and return to the safety of Covington Cross. It felt as if his entire being was screaming for him to bolt. Uncertainly, he began to shift forward in his seat. His uncle and brothers were still occupied with their conversation and had not the slightest interest in him at that moment. 'What am I doing?!' he thought, as he sidled closer to the door. 'These are childish fears! Nothing more - I'm just afraid of a little adventure.' With a loud groan of protest, the peasants rolled the offending cart off the road and signalled for their driver to continue. Cedric found his hand on the door handle, fingers (which appeared to be his own, though he did not remember controlling them) fastened around it, tightly. His uncle and brothers now had their backs to him, their attention focused on the driver. Now was his chance. The castle was beckoning him back and a voice in his head urged him: "Yes! Now - yes!" Shaking all over, he began to press the handle down when all at once, his breath caught in his throat. He shot back into his seat with a thud.   
  
A lonely figure stood, shaded in the early evening gloom, just inside the castle's grounds. It appeared to be watching him intently. He could feel eyes boring into his head, the gaze, penetrating his thoughts. A chill overcame him, and with a quickened heart, he scrutinised the person as best he could. Though cloaked and hooded, he could just about make out the outline of a woman, remaining unnoticed by all around her. In a distant part of his mind, he heard their driver urge the horses on, and with the crack of a whip, they were moving. Cedric could not take his eyes off the woman as they drove away - there was something about her that demanded attention, and not only that - which demanded caution. In a last, vain effort to keep her in sight, he leaned as far as he could out of the window. The carriage was coming up on a turn, and in just a few seconds more, the grounds would be obscured completely from sight. As he narrowed his eyes and strained his vision, the woman seemed to sense his urgency. The figure, small as she now was, took a few steps forward and lowered her hood.   
  
His bottom jaw dropped, as he felt the colour leave his face. A hard hand grabbed his shoulder, pulling him roughly back inside the carriage. He landed on his place with a soft thud and if his mind had been rooted in the present, he would probably have been very grateful once more, for the cushioned seats. "What are you playing at, Cedric?!" Charles scolded, crossly. "You must never lean out so when coming to a corner. You very nearly had that branch in the head!" Cedric, however, wasn't listening. The moment had been brief, and the distance far, but it had been enough to be sure: it had been Nan - and she had scared him to the bone.  
***  
  
They had been travelling for an hour now, and had just passed out of the Gray's boundaries. Cedric watched as the countryside sped past. His excitement built as the scenery became more foreign and unknown. William had once again engaged Charles in discussion and the two of them were now debating the rise and fall of the wool trade. For a brief moment, Cedric regretted his hasty decision to ask for his brothers to join them. Not only was he feeling much bolder than he was earlier, the changing scenery and general excitement having eradicated his fears and replaced them with trepidation, but Charles also seemed to be giving a lot of his attention to his older siblings.   
  
"What do you think, Cedric?" Charles asked. He looked up, quickly.   
"I'm sorry?" His uncle smiled, benignly at him.  
"William was suggesting that with news of a Cistercian abbey opening north of Covington Cross, it suggests that a decline in the manor's wool trade is imminent?" Cedric struggled to temper his jealousy for a moment and to bring his thoughts back to the present. His uncle had not asked for his opinion on anything so important for a long time. Not that he knew much about sheep, but thanks to the Friar, he knew quite a bit about the Cistercians.   
"Well," he began, sounding as knowledgeable as possible, "how..how far north are we talking about?" To his relief, Charles and even his brothers, took the question seriously and even had to think about the answer for a moment. Richard, who had been leaning his head against the carriage, away in a world of his own, now turned to face them, intrigued once more in the conversation. Cedric was not sure whether he appreciated this or not. "I heard it wasn't so much a new abbey as it was a new grange. It's Waverly, isn't it?" Richard said.  
  
"Well," Cedric said, thoughtfully, "I suppose it is possible they may draw some of our clients, especially if they take the collecta from the smaller growers - but I think they are far enough away to not pose a threat." William 'humphed' in reply. "Cedric, they're the best sheep-rearers in the Kingdom - even kings have patronised them!"  
"But not for a least a century and a half," Cedric pointed out as he began to find his feet in the discussion. "And besides, the North is better for sheep. It's possible they'll concentrate on arable farming. They're reputation is beginning to dim and the Benedictines are providing tough competition for them." "They were the most stable growers of the whole market, not more than fifty years ago," Charles remarked, eyeing the young man carefully. For a brief moment, Cedric wondered if it was wise to disagree with his uncle before deciding that on this occasion, he may as well say what he knew on the topic. "That is true, uncle - but they also held a near monopoly with the Flemish merchants and suppliers. When our economy fluctuated, they had another, more stable one to rely on. The Flemish dealers are beginning to look else where now. Maybe we should strengthen our ties with these dealers before the new Grange is built?" he added, tentatively. Richard regarded him curiously, whilst William's face held just the beginnings of a frown. A smile played across Charles' lips as he leaned back in his seat in satisfaction. "I believe, Cedric, that you have made a very sensible suggestion. Don't you agree, William?" William nodded, clearly a little ruffled but nonetheless, secretly impressed with his little brother. "Well then, Cedric," Charles continued, lightly, "Let us hope that you keep those same wits about you when we get to Chester."  
  
"How long do you think it will take us, Uncle?" Richard asked, leaning forward.   
"It is a fair distance," Charles said, thoughtfully, "but if we keep up a steady pace, I should imagine not more than a week at most." "A week?!" Cedric cried, a little dismayed. He did not think he could cope with this carriage for an entire week there, and presumably another week back. Richard and William appeared amused at their brother's reaction. "We often forget how unworldly you are, little brother." Richard teased with a smirk. "Only in some areas!" Cedric shot back. Richard felt up to the challenge. "Oh really? Well I'm afraid your 'travelling' days will be limited, once you enter the Church." He knew he shouldn't, but against his better judgement, Cedric could feel his feathers ruffling. "I suppose having a whole lifetime of freedom at your disposal, Richard, has left you free to take your time in going places. I applaud your self-restraint, thus far." The challenges regarding an individual's manhood, should as a rule, not be done in confined spaces with no escape routes. "It is you I admire, Cedric! I can only imagine how hard it must be for you, to be forced into a life of celibacy while the rest of us actually LIVE our lives!"  
"Better to be forced into celibacy by a promise than by an inability to - " At this point, Charles stepped in and, suffice it to say, neither Cedric nor Richard spoke a word to each other for the next hour.   
***  
Night had fallen and the occupants of the carriage had lapsed into silence. The horses were tiring and the roads were now notoriously unsafe. As Cedric leaned his head against the carriage, he wondered when they were going to stop, and where as he didn't know where abouts they were and there certainly did not appear to be any signs of habitation near by. He had his eyes closed and was attempting to dose. William and Richard it seemed, could sleep any where. Neither snored (at least not loudly or frequently enough to give them away) but he could tell that they had indeed reached a state of blissful slumber. Well, he mused, as blissful as could be, when their heads were lying awkwardly against their shoulders.   
  
Though Cedric was drifting, concern of where they would stop for the night, was keeping him awake and alert. His uncle, it seemed, never slept - Cedric could hear soft, murmured exchanges between him and the driver. They had driven a few paces more, when Cedric was startled by the sound of a sharp whinny from the horses. Despite his curiosity, Cedric kept his eyes closed. He didn't know why, but later, he would be glad he did. Charles had turned, sharply in his seat, had leaned across the quietly dozing William and had peered out of the window. The horses slowed up and drew to a complete halt, whilst the driver demanded to know who was there. No reply was forthcoming and Cedric could hear and feel, his uncle climbing down from the carriage. Cedric's heart was beating rapidly. He feared an attack, but something was telling him that this was something else: nothing less sinister, mind, but an evil of an entirely different nature. He dared to open his eyes a little and though it was dark and his eyes had to readjust to their surroundings, Cedric could indeed make out the figure of a tall, hooded man. Charles strode towards him, hand on the hilt of his sword. The stranger stood his ground, and Cedric expected Charles to confront him - perhaps even do battle. He considered waking Richard and William as this was one challenge he did not feel up to facing on his first venture out. He stayed off however, and was glad that he did.   
  
As he watched, a strange scene unfolded before his eyes. As Charles approached the man, he quickly glanced back to the carriage, Cedric presumed, to check that all inside were all right. In any case, he quickly shut his eyes, though he doubted that in that light, Charles could have seen rightly any way. After a pause, he opened his eyes again and continued to stare. Charles had turned back to the stranger and had ushered him off the road to the cover of the surrounding trees. Perhaps he intends to confront him away from us? Cedric mused, perhaps to spare us all danger? His vision was now almost completely useless, as even the lantern which the man had brought, did not afford much light when under the trees, thick with summer leaves. He strained to hear what they were talking about. He could just make out the voices, hardened and raised in anger though Charles quickly hushed him back down to a murmur. "...Asked you what you want!?" he heard Charles demand. The man mumbled something in harsh undertones. "Never here!" Charles spat back. Then he handed something over to the man and abruptly turned and strode back towards the carriage. The stranger emerged from the shadows to watch him go, and Cedric caught a glimpse of him a little more clearly. There was something oddly familiar though for the life of him, Cedric couldn't place it and he could make out no discernible features as the man's cloak had been pulled tightly around him and his hood hung low over his face. Something shone in the lantern light, and Cedric could make out a silver or gold threading around the base of the hood. If any thing confirmed his conclusion that the man was no brigand, than this certainly did. He heard his uncle open the door and hastily, he shut his eyes. As his uncle climbed in and the driver started up again, he never did see what happened to the man on the road.  
  
***  
  
Though his mind had been restlessly turning with questions about the strange encounter, Cedric had nonetheless, finally fallen into a light sleep. He was not sure how long he had been in such a state, but at some point, he became aware that once again, the horses had stopped and that this time, there was movement all around him. Richard was shaking him (none too gently, either) by the shoulder in an effort to wake him. Wearily, he opened his eyes and tentatively stretched his cramped muscles. "What's happening?" he asked. Richard was too tired himself to remain annoyed at Cedric - besides, Thomas had instructed him to watch over his younger brothers on this journey and he took that charge relatively seriously. "We're stopping for the night, Cedric."  
"Where?" he asked.   
"I don't know exactly. Stop asking so many questions and come along. They have to tend to the horses and they can't do that whilst you're sitting in the carriage like a vegetable!" His father had said to watch out for them - not to be nice to them. Cedric got to his feet and stumbled out of the carriage. Their driver had already disappeared - presumably with their belongings. Cedric was a little disappointed as he had meant to surreptitiously enquire about the man on the road. Surely the driver would have been in a better position to observe the exchange than Cedric was?   
  
He looked up at the small wayside inn where they had stopped. It looked comfortable enough, with its overhanging thatched roof and buckets of summer flowers by the doorway. Little windows revealed the light of a small fire, burning in the hearth of the kitchen and offering a glow of hospitality to weary travellers. One by one, they clambered through the narrow door and huddled in the entrance way. An old woman stood by the stair case. Her face was weary, yet kind and strands of silver hair had fallen out of her hood, gently framing her rounded face. In her right hand, she held a lantern, recently lighted, for Charles to take and Cedric noticed three unlit candles in her other hand. Charles must have made their arrangements and paid for their lodgings already for the servants seemed to require nothing from them at that moment.   
"This way, if you please, my Lord," she murmured, indicating the wooden stairs. They all followed her lead, suddenly very anxious to be tucked up soundly in bed. Charles took the lantern she offered him with a slight nod of thanks and she glanced, embarrassed at the other three. "Forgive me, Sirs," she explained, quietly, "I did not know there would be so many. We haven't much call for lanterns at this time of year." They all quickly assured her that the candles would suffice very nicely and hastily took theirs so that they could be on their way.   
  
They filed up the stairs one by one, leaving the old lady behind, despite her offer to show them to their rooms. Charles assured her that he had been there before and knew where each room allocated to them, was. Cedric was the last to move past her, and as he did so, he caught his footing in a dip in the woodwork and stumbled a little. At once, the woman gave a startled gasp and caught hold of his arm to steady him. "Forgive me, young Sir," she said, hastily. "That step has needed mending for some time now, but Jack never seems to do it." She seemed so flustered, that Cedric made sure she was looking directly at him when he assured her that it did not matter - he wanted her to see that he was sincere. As she looked at his face, however, she gave a soft gasp though he had no idea why. "Cedric?" he heard his uncle call from upstairs, obviously having heard the noise. "Richard, go and see if your brother is all right." All at once, the old woman released his arm as if it were scalding to the touch and quickly backed away, thanking Cedric for his understanding and muttering apologies again as she disappeared into the kitchen. He shook his head, clearly baffled but too tired to give it much thought. Richard shook his head in mild exasperation when he heard about the step, but Cedric just ignored him and allowed his brother to guide him to his own room. The events of that day and night, gradually swirled into a foggy haze which settled in the back of his mind as he lay down in his bed, letting the comforting blackness of the night, overcome him.  
***  
  
He woke late the next morning. The midday sun was nearly high in the sky and all around him, Cedric could hear the noises of everyday work. He rose and moved over to his little window. The day light afforded him a much better idea of where they were. He could see the road which they had followed the previous night, leading up to the inn on his left and in front of the building, there appeared to be some kind of timber yard. A narrow path led off directly ahead of them and judging by the throng of passers-by, he guessed it led either to houses or to the local village. Which village that would be, he was still at a loss for.  
  
He heard a knock at his door. It pushed open a moment later, regardless of his response (had been given time to make one). William poked his head inside, "Finally! I thought you'd never wake up. We're all downstairs and if you want any kind of break fast than I'd hurry up if I were you." With that, he left as abruptly as he'd entered.   
  
When Cedric arrived downstairs after hastily dressing, he found his family seated around a fairly large oak table in the centre of the room. Smaller tables with stools were grouped in little pockets around the room, and he surmised that this must also be the tavern. "Good afternoon," Charles greeted. Cedric shyly took his seat in an empty chair next to Richard. They were all busy tucking into bread and pottage - not exactly as filling as he would have liked but Cedric assumed that was the usual for breakfast in these parts. Wherever they were.  
"Hello," Cedric returned. Charles grinned at him, "I suppose you will be wanting something to eat?" He watched Cedric's sheepish reaction with some amusement before he raised his arm and signalled to the server. It was obviously some kind of pre-arranged sign for the man went straight into the kitchen and returned a few moments later with another tray of food.   
With food inside of him (albeit a little less than he would have preferred) Cedric felt much more awake and lively. "Where are we, Uncle?" he asked between mouthfuls.  
"In a small village just outside of Oxford, called Cuckfield."  
"Oxford?" Cedric asked in surprise. "I had no idea we'd travelled that far in one night."  
"You'd be truly amazed at how far a man can travel if he just keeps a steady pace and stays from resting every hour God sends," Charles replied, smoothly. Cedric hesitated.  
"We didn't stop..at all then. For the entire journey?" Charles stilled slightly.  
"We stopped once to move a deer off the path," he admitted, carefully.  
"Oh." Cedric did not feel it wise to push the matter any further.   
  
"What is the plan for the day, Uncle Charles?" William asked, eagerly. Charles turned to focus his attention on him. "Well, the horses have rested and have been fed and watered. We may remain here for an hour or so and take some exercise and then we will be on our way North again." "Where in Chester are we headed to?" Richard asked.  
"A town named Christelton - I've heard Chester is relatively small so it should not be too hard to find."  
"Haven't you been there, Uncle?" Cedric asked.  
"What?"  
"Well, I only meant if your knowledge of Chester is from hearsay only, then how can you have had business in a place you've never been to?" William and Richard also leaned forward in interest. Charles' fingers gripped his goblet a little tighter than necessary. "I meant, Cedric, that I have not been to Christleton before. I had not ventured far into Chester on my last visit and did not explore it well," he explained, slowly and carefully. All three nodded in understanding, but now William and Richard were subjected to the first, tiniest seeds of doubt.  
  
They finished their food and drink quickly, eager to be out in the summer air and to stretch their muscles properly. William and Richard found two long, thick poles and decided they were adequate as quarter-staffs. They enthusiastically began their practice under the wary eye of Charles, who had experienced enough of the current generation of the Gray family, to know that combat should never be assumed friendly. Cedric appeared to be excluded from the activities again, but he didn't mind. During his late breakfast, he had made up his mind to do two things: firstly, to find and question their driver; and second, to talk with the old lady from the night before - neither of whom, appeared to be any where in sight.  
  
He left his brothers and his uncle, and wandered away from the inn. There didn't appear to be much to see in any direction so he picked the winding path which he had earlier assumed, led to the village. Side-stepping the occasional peddler, he made his way along the road, enjoying the feeling of the sun on his face. Presently, he rounded a corner, and the road came to an end. Before him stood the village of Cuckfield - small, but seeming to serve the general need with a blacksmiths, a few lodgings and some market stalls. The village was too small to have its own church, but on a hill in the distance, Cedric could make out the imposing form of the church of the neighbouring town.   
  
The general hum of the crowd was somehow comforting to him. Perhaps he had been in the company of too few, lately, he wondered? He turned right, and headed up a rising slope in the direction of the church. The Friar would have been quite impressed by his instincts, he thought in amusement. As he wandered, he was surprised to see another tavern, standing by the wayside. He immediately thought of their driver. It might be possible to find him in there, and people were bound to have seen him that day so he could always ask. He realized, with some irritation that he did not know the man's name and he could not quite recall his features clearly. Asking about him may prove more difficult than he had anticipated. The man was not a part of his father's retinue - he had come with his uncle as part of his own personal service. He, and a few others like him, had arrived at Covington Cross a few days after Charles. They kept mostly to themselves and Cedric and his siblings had rarely spotted them around the castle or grounds. Still, he thought, I imagine that a stranger's a stranger in these parts - he's bound to have been noticed. He pushed open the little door and stepped inside. Even he had to stoop to enter as a heavy beam hung low across the thresh hold.   
  
It was still relatively early and few had taken respite from the day's work yet for their midday food. A man sat at a table in the far corner of the room, carving some form of drinking vessel with his knife. Another sat almost draped over his tanker of ale and looking none too aware of the world. From the kitchen Cedric could hear at least two more. He walked over to the man with the knife. "Pardon me, Sir", he began. The man paused his carving long enough to glance up at him. He took a cursory glance at Cedric's clothing then placed his knife and goblet on the table beside him, in supposed deference of his status. Cedric could tell that it was merely a formality - the man's eyes still regarded him suspiciously. "I'm looking for a man who arrived here late last night," Cedric continued. "He is about your height, I imagine, about your age and bearded (I think)". The man's expression was a mixture between irritation and amusement. "Can't say's I recall a man of that precise description round here," he told him, humour shining behind his eyes. Cedric guessed that the humour was mocking him but he didn't care. "Do you think the man over there has?" he asked, pointing to the fellow slumped over his drink. His companion chuckled, "Old Robin comes awake when they try to move his ale! He's been like that most of the day and I'd wager the night, too."  
  
Cedric appeared a little disheartened. The man decided to take pity on him - after all, he didn't appear to be as great a nuisance as he had originally thought him. "Do you have a name for this fellow?" he asked. Cedric glanced at the ground in embarrassment. "No," he admitted.  
"Who is this man to you, then?!" he asked Cedric in amused exasperation.  
"My driver," he explained. At this, the man became a little more serious. He'd known a few travellers in his time who had been stranded in far off villages because their help had decided to take an unexpected leave of their duties. Some of these types had even been friends of his, and openly he had laughed at the misfortune of the rich and helpless who then had to manage as best they could: but this was different. The lad was a good enough boy and in any rate, about the same age as his own son. He would be loathe to have his own boy lost and without help, especially if this driver had taken the youth's money as well.  
"Well then, young Sir, let us see if Peter or Martha have not seen him?" He rose and moved to the kitchen. "Hey!" he called out. A plump, red faced gentleman poked his head out of the serving hatch. "What do you want, Tobias?" he called. "Heaven forbid you would actually be buying a drink!" "Never fear, Peter," he replied, wryly, "your faith is sound. We are looking for a man, new in town last night. Perchance you've seen him about the village? My height and age...probably bearded." Peter frowned in concentration. "Not to my knowledge but I've not been out far this day, nor has Martha. She's done her back a hurt, you see and has not been round to collect the vegetables as she's want to do. She always spies things along the way - you know how women are: if it's something to gossip about, they'll be sure to note it." Tobias chuckled, politely. As far as he was aware, Martha was one of the hardest working women that he knew and he hardly considered it fair to label her a gossip. Still, he knew his friend meant it kindly.  
  
"Who is to make the collection then?"   
Peter frowned. "Abigail said she would drop them round this morn but it's high past time already." Tobias seemed surprised also. "It is not like her to be late for anything. Did she seem well?" "Oh, for sure! Somewhat distracted, I'll tell you that much - who knows over what! I tell you, these women get hysterical all too quickly. Still, she did not mind leaving the inn for a while - she seemed in quite a hurry to be without!" Tobias looked thoughtful. Abigail had lived in the village of Cuckfield for nigh on fifteen summers. Next to Martha, she was one of the most sensible and least hysterical women he knew. She made it her business not to gossip or interfere in the affairs of others and though she was friendly to all, she seldom took note of what went on around her, content to tuck herself away in her little inn for the most part. To his best recollection, the only remarkable thing which Abigail had done, was to never marry - or if she had married, she had either left him or been widowed. Her entrance into the village had been hasty and a woman arriving on her own, had caused some tongues to wag about cuckolded husbands or other disreputable things. That had, however been a long time ago and had, for the most part, been forgotten by all. All this led Tobias to wonder: what was it that had caused Abigail such panic after all this time?  
  
Drawing his mind to the present, he turned back to Cedric, who had been waiting patiently for the most part, but who was now beginning to anxiously look out of the window. Cedric supposed he really should tell Tobias that he had not been abandoned here, as that was the impression he was getting from the man, but he also realised that he was receiving a deal more help this way. He decided that if it began to look like Tobias was greatly putting himself out for him, then Cedric would confess the truth. His conscience appeased, he waited until (as he saw now), Tobias turned his attention towards him. "Well, young man," he said, "you might try in the village. Tom the Blacksmith might know. What name have you, by the by?"  
"Cedric Gray," he replied, his gaze returning to the window. He had suddenly become aware of the passage of time, and did not know how quickly his uncle would want to depart. One quick sweep of the village and then I'll return, he promised himself. After all, what was the use of trying to finding him when they would only have moments to talk in? In all likelihood, whilst he was searching the village, their driver would be sitting atop the carriage with an irate uncle waiting inside.   
  
At that moment, the little door swung open and a woman pushed inside, her arms full with a large wicker basket, laden to the brim with potatoes, onions and other vegetables. She did indeed seem flustered and barely noticed the company around her. "Abigail!" Peter cried, happily. "Thank the Lord! Here, I'll take those and put them in the kitchen." He moved to relieve her of her burden and then having done so, disappeared out to the back. Tobias looked at her curiously, as did Cedric. Her old, drawn face seemed familiar. Suddenly, it dawned on him - she was the land lady from the inn last night who had appeared so scared to see him. His heart leapt as he realised that she was also the second person who he had been meaning to talk to that day. All thoughts of questioning their driver, vanished as she stood inside the doorway for a moment, regaining her breath. At length, she noticed Tobias' concerned look and smiled at him in reassurance. "How are you, Tobias?" she asked, politely. "Aye, well, I thank you, Abigail. And how do you fare this day?" She did not answer him, however: her gaze had fallen upon Cedric.  
  
For a moment, she stood still, staring at him and he at her. He wondered if she would turn and leave again, for something was clearly telling him that he was the reason she had disappeared that morning: he was the reason she was so distressed - what he didn't know, was why. She did not run, however, she did not even walk away: what she did do, surprised him. Abruptly she turned to Tobias and whispered something into his ear. He listened carefully, then nodded his assent to something. Then she turned to Cedric and said, "You had better follow me, Master Cedric." She did leave the tavern then, and Cedric was so startled for a moment, that he simply stood on his spot, not moving. When he realised she was gone, however, he quickly followed her out onto the street, casting a puzzled glance at Tobias as he left.   
  
Abigail walked briskly up the gentle hill and despite her age, Cedric had to make good speed to keep up with her. They walked in silence, Abigail with her eyes straight ahead. At length, she slowed and turned them into a small garden where a bench stood by a high brick wall. They moved over to it and sat down. "It used to belong to our herbologist," she explained, indicating the garden with one hand, casually. Cedric nodded, politely though he was overflowing with curiosity. "He died a year ago," she went on, quietly, her voice laden with sadness and regret. "This garden should have been kept up. It should have been allocated to the old man's relatives - but it hasn't. Nothing has been done: sometimes, it takes people a long time to do what they have to do." She paused and hung her head. Then she continued, "I suppose you want answers?" He looked at her in surprise. "About what?" he found himself asking. "You tell me," she returned. He thought for a moment:  
"Why did you react the way you did last night? When you looked at me, and heard my name, you seemed to be afraid. Have I done something to you?" She smiled and shook her head. "Then how do you know me? I've never been to this place before."  
"No," she agreed, "but I have been to yours. Covington Cross was once my home. You must please forgive me for last night. I have not thought of that place in a long while and your arrival was an unexpected reminder." "Of what?" he asked her, leaning forward.  
"Of things best forgotten," she muttered, looking away. Cedric decided to leave that line of questioning for a moment. "How did you know I was from Covington Cross?"  
"Your brother's name," she said, simply. "He was very young when I was on the manor, but I remember Richard and I heard talk of the youngest being called Cedric." She paused and again, she glanced away for a moment. "Then of course, there was him."  
"Who?"  
"Sir Charles Gray. The man I saw you with last night." Cedric gasped.  
"You actually knew my uncle when he was at Covington Cross?" he asked, excitedly. She nodded without saying a word. "He's been gone my whole life," Cedric explained - then he stopped short. Abigail looked at him, curiosity and fear, dancing in her eyes. Cedric was torn: he was desperate to know about a great many things surrounding his elusive uncle, but he was certain that it was not right to pry this way. But then again, Richard and William had admitted to questioning old servants about Uncle Charles, so it could not surely be so wrong for him to do the same. "Abigail - do you remember much about him?" Slowly, she nodded again. "Well, there is something that I have been wanting to know about. Apparently, I have an Aunt Mary - a sister of my mother's. Is it possible that you knew her?"  
"Yes," she replied, quietly.  
"You did?! Was she really in love with my uncle?" Abigail gave a wistful smile.  
"He courted her, it is true. I used to work the brewery, and daily I would pass the gardens to pick spices for the wines. He would take her there on occasions - bring her flowers, read her the most loving poetry you ever did hear."  
  
"So they were indeed in love." Cedric said, thoughtfully, and a little sadly. How it must have crushed Charles when she left, he mused. "There was love there," she agreed, "but from what I could gather, it did not flow equally between them."  
"How could you tell?" he asked. She frowned.  
"When he read poetry to her, his voice was as soft as the rushes, but when she rejected his advances, his anger carried in his voice and I could hear the arguments ever so clearly. Perhaps I remember it more as they were the easiest parts to hear," she admitted.  
"Did you know that man she truly loved?" Cedric probed. She shook her head.   
"He was of good gentry blood but that's as much as I know of him. His brother came to the manor shortly after she'd gone, making demands to know if any one knew of where his brother had been headed - he was in a right state. I remember well how he threatened to cause a whole lot of trouble if we did not find out." Cedric raised his eyebrows in shock.  
"Did he?" he asked, both amazed and impressed that this drama had unfolded in his very own home. She shook her head, softly. "No. A day later or so, he returned, meek as a lamb to Covington Cross. His brother had written him or something like that - appeased him enough to calm him down at any rate and to realise how foolish he'd been earlier." Cedric was shocked, "So my family did know where Mary had gone to? The letter this brother received must have told them something!"  
  
Again, Abigail shook her head. "Only your father was there that day, Master Cedric. He claimed no interest in the letter or its contents." She saw the hurt expression in Cedric's eyes. "Now, sir - you must not be too hard on your father. He took Mistress Mary's departure quite hard. When Sir Charles returned, however, he was beside himself. He left Covington Cross not long after that." Though loyal to his father, personally, Cedric could not blame his uncle.   
"It is strange, though," Cedric wondered out loud, "that Mary mentioned nothing at all about the man she loved - I mean, if he were of good family. Do you remember any conversations that she had before she eloped?" Abigail suddenly appeared very weary and much older than she had on their sprightly walk up there. "The day she left - I did hear something then. No mention of who this lover was, mind but I heard the way she spoke of him and I could hear the love in her voice, plain as day. She talked not of the marriage, either but your uncle could not stand to hear it, nonetheless."  
"It was with him that she spoke, then?"  
"Spoke! Shouted is more the truth! He did not take her final rejection well and I daresay his words hurt her quite badly. Perhaps if he had been gentler with her, he might have succeeded in persuading her to stay that night? What passed between them on that parting must have personally cut him deeply. Sometime I find it little wonder that he wished it kept a secret by all present." Cedric looked puzzled. "But he was alone that night. He told me - there was no one to be sworn to silence."  
  
Quickly, Abigail rose to her feet. "The time is drawing on, young Sir and I must return," she said as she made to leave. Cedric, too, leapt to his feet. "What are you saying, Abigail?" he asked, desperately. "What won't you tell me?" He gently caught a hold of her arm and reluctantly, she turned and faced him. "Please!" he implored her. Her expression was harder than it had been before. "He was not alone that night. Please do not ask me all that I know, but I will tell you this. A woman followed him to the gates. I did not see what happened at the departure, but I know that she was there. The poor thing was heavy with child and I   
know -". She stopped herself, suddenly as if she had said too much already. Tears were beginning to brim in her eyes and she hastily began to make her way back towards the inn. Cedric hurried to follow her. "If you'll tell me no more of what happened that night, then I beg you tell me this last thing," he entreated as he ran along beside her. "Tell me why you left Covington Cross. Why you could not face us once you knew who we were." She slowed her pace a little though she did not look at him.  
  
"When she left...when he left after, there was something..different about the place. Nothing was the same again - it couldn't be, and I was afraid."  
"Afraid of what?" Now she did stop and she turned to face him:  
"They'll say I'm a foolish old woman - that I'm hysterical, but I tell you no lie. In God's honest truth, when your aunt left the castle, something truly evil took residence in her place, and I could not stay there a moment longer. If they had seen, what I had seen..." Cedric stared at her, incomprehensibly. Without another word, Abigail hurried off away from him and for once, he made no move to stop her. A dim and distant part of his mind was telling him how much trouble he was likely already in with his uncle for the delay in their departure, but he could not find the will to care about it. With ever increasing speed, his world was starting to spin from underneath him. He had known this woman for less than a day, but he found himself believing her, and more significantly, he once more found himself doubting his uncle. Something was terribly wrong, he realised - something much more than childhood fears: something akin to evil and intricately linked to the man he now travelled with.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Part 3

Relative Strangers: Part 3  
Disclaimer: Please see part one.  
I know this is only a short instalment, but the rest will be on its way soon, I promise.  
  
  
Cedric's feet, as it happened, regained their momentum before his brain did and the young man found himself making a hasty retreat to the inn despite his mind whirling with familial misgivings. He knew he was late and when his senses finally registered this, he picked up his pace until he arrived at the carriage, breathless and with a stitch in his side. Their driver had reappeared and was impatiently waiting in his seat. As he came to a halt, three heads poked out from the carriage windows - two of them with an expression of amused annoyance and one with a decidedly darker temperament. He bowed his head at their expressions and mumbled an apology. "I'm sorry I am late, Uncle. I lost track of the hour."  
  
"Where were you?" Charles asked, his voice hard with anger and ...suspicion? Cedric couldn't be sure of course, but he had a feeling Charles was as wary of him as he was with his uncle. "I was in the town. I'm sorry," he repeated. William and Richard rolled their eyes but leant back inside the window, apparently satisfied with the explanation. It hadn't surprised them anyway - Cedric was prone to this sort of thing, at times they all were. Besides, they were not SO late that a couple of hours of speedy riding would not set them straight. They knew, however, from their Uncle's silent tirade during their youngest sibling's absence that Charles was in need of some venting of steam. They let him get on with it while Cedric remained stationed by the carriage, his hands wringing nervously infront of him.   
  
"What were you doing in the town for all this time? Were you talking to someone?" The question caught him off-guard and Cedric momentarily feared that his uncle knew too much. Not that he knew himself of what, but his instincts were erring on the side of caution. "No-one, Uncle Charles. I had promised the Friar that I would continue with my prayers during the journey. There was a church up on the hill and I thought I'd go there for the morning." It was an out and out lie, and he knew it. He only hoped his uncle didn't. Still, Charles had narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brows, drawing his cheeks in, in a slightly sallow expression. He knew enough of his exuberant nephew's 'pastoral' leanings, and they had not presented themselves as overwhelming, to say the least. Cedric shuffled from foot to foot, agitatedly. His uncle remained unconvinced - he could see that. "The church is quite a distance from this town", Charles remarked, coldly and carefully, his gaze never wavering from the nervous boy before him. "Y, yes, Sir. I..I may have noticed the tavern on the path and become a little...side-tracked." It was nine-tenths of the truth. His conscience could cope with that - especially when his gut was dictating the orders. Inside the carriage, he heard his brothers snort in confirmation of their suspicions and though they never knew what they were doing, he silently thanked them for lending credence to his story. In any event, Charles appeared satisfied. At least of the explanation.   
  
"Your bags have been collected. Into the carriage now, Cedric. We have tarried long enough." Hastily, he did as he was bid, clambering up and across his brothers, awkwardly. Perhaps he should have attempted escape right then? The notion was not an alien one to him - only one which, at present, he was incapable of adhering to. "In our next rest," his uncle was continuing, once he was aboard, "you shall not wander from my side. Is that understood?" His expression broached no room for argument and Cedric was wise to recognise this. "Good," Charles remarked, sternly. Then he added, almost as an after-thought but a very smooth one at that, "your father has entrusted you all into my keeping and I do not intend to disappoint him." His gaze swept all of the occupants of the carriage who delivered stealthily woe-full glances in Cedric's direction at him having caused them to be inadvertently drawn in to his mistake. His brothers were the least of his worries, however so he paid them little heed.   
  
  
The carriage pulled away from Cuckfield and back onto the main road that they had been taking the night before. Cedric was not sure what he was expecting, but he was sure that something about the journey, or his uncle should seem different. It did not, however and he could not think what to make of this. 'I should try to tell Richard and William what I've discovered', he thought to himself, as the carriage trundled past forests and rivers. Never any towns, or villages, he noted grimly. But what if they didn't believe him? They liked his uncle and had no reason to suspect him of anything. Besides, he had no real evidence of his fears - just unsubstantiated rumours and paranoia. Feelings were not a sufficient cause to condemn a man. That's most likely what his father would say and therefore almost certainly what his brothers would repeat. This also was not just 'a man': this was their uncle and their father's long-lost brother. Convincing them of treachery would not be an easy, or a welcomed task.   
  
Richard and William chatted amongst themselves for a while and Cedric watched them closely as they did this. He knew they were making a small show of being annoyed with him, but all three of them knew that they didn't mean it. They were his brothers, his life-long companions and, when needed, his greatest friends and defenders. He was not alone and he saw no reason why he should force himself to be so. Their blood ran deep enough in the other's veins to survive his suspicious mind. He made up his mind to discuss his findings with his brothers as soon as he was out of earshot of his uncle. Then, with a sinking heart, he remembered his uncle's instructions that Cedric was not to leave his side when they next stopped. How on Earth was he supposed to get them alone now?  
  
Charles was apparently minding his own business on his side of the carriage, occasionally addressing a remark or two in the boys' direction or mediating in an argument. Nevertheless, Cedric was almost convinced that the man somehow knew what he was thinking. He could barely even look his uncle in the eye for fear that his guilt and fear were shining through like beacons. Charles' attitude to the youngest member of the Gray clan, once more seemed tranquil and approving - he even attempted a joke or two with the youth. Cedric smiled politely and duly played his part, but he doubted whether his heart could ever truly be present in their interactions again.   
  
The hours drew on and it once again became dark. Cedric knew that they would soon be stopping for the night. If he wanted to speak privately to his brothers, he would not have much time. He must be quick, before his uncle had a chance to become suspicious. When they pulled up at their lodgings, unlike the previous night, Cedric was wide awake and alert. He would not sleep quite so easily in his uncle's company again. William was lightly dozing but was easily roused. "Where are we, uncle?" Cedric asked, quietly making certain to remain polite. He was sure now, that upsetting his uncle could have more serious consequences than he had ever thought originally possible. Charles appeared placate enough at the moment. "Hexen Mead", he answered.  
"Are we nearly at Christledon?" Cedric asked as his brothers clamboured out of the carriage after him and began to assist their driver with the bags. "We're not even in Chester yet." Charles pointed out. "Oh," Cedric wondered. "How much longer do you think?" Charles raised an eyebrow at him - a gesture which, only a short while ago, Cedric would have taken to be jovial. Now, he was not so sure. "Getting bored already are you?" Charles asked, lightly, his face a little tighter than usual. "No," Cedric assure him. "I was just curious."   
"Well, not too far now," Charles informed him. "Perhaps another day or two." Cedric smiled in appreciation but inwardly he felt his heart sink. He wasn't sure if he could take much more of this journey. This was only one-way, too - he had the whole of the return journey to look forward to as well. His back and arms stiffened as a sudden chill coursed through his entire body. For the first time since his departure at the gates of Covington Cross, that voice in his head had whispered to him what he had been subconsciously ignoring the entire journey: the fear that for him, there would be no return journey.   
  
As quickly but discreetly as possible Cedric moved away from his uncle and went to the aid of his brothers and the driver. If Charles noticed anything, he showed no sign of it. Instead he busied himself with taking charge of the situation. He strode into the tavern, his nephews in tow. Cedric stood as close to his brothers as he could. Charles requested their rooms and Cedric almost breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Charles ordering a room for each of them. He had half feared that he would be put in a room with his uncle for the night. Still, he harboured no doubts that his room would be the one right next to Charles'. That, he thought, he could probably cope with, however.   
  
Richard and William were also very happy to learn that it would be possible for a meal to be made up for them all. Even Cedric had to admit that although his appetite had been dampened somewhat, he was still fiendishly hungry especially at the mention and prospect of actual food. As they all seated themselves around a large oak table (again they were the only occupants of the room, other than the servants), Cedric not only found that he was seated next to his uncle, but that there would have been little room for a private conversation with his brothers, even if he were seated in-between them. He supposed that it could not seem so suspect to ask to be alone with his own brothers, but somehow Cedric did not want to try that tactic unless he had no other option.   
  
After they had eaten, Richard and William attempted to strike up an after supper conversation. As usual, it quickly dissolved into bickering. "You are mistaken, brother!" Richard insisted through clenched teeth. "I won the prize for lance work last year. I think you won for something else. Best grown turnip, I believe."  
"Really?!" William shot back, "that does surprise me. It was obvious to everyone present, including the lovely Lady Amelia, that the biggest vegetable was to be found growing between your ears." Richard laughed, tightly, his face beginning to redden a little. "That's not what she was telling me whilst she whispered softly in my ear. I don't think she thought much of you, actually. Not with the infection and everything."  
William backed his chair up and straightened his back a little. "What..infection?" he asked, eyes narrowed. Richard smirked. "The rather delicate one I might have mentioned you had. Don't worry though. I told her it was entirely curable, given time and complete abstenance."  
"You dirty, rotten fiend!" William exclaimed hotly. "You could tell where her favours lay - you were merely jealous!" Cedric rolled his eyes in dismay. This was always bound to happen when his brothers were forced into each other's company for prolonged periods of time without space away. Half an hour was usually too much lately. "Jealous? Of you?!" Richard exclaimed, now very nearly shouting, "highly unlikely brother. Try to keep your rather pathetic dreams separate from reality." William made the mistake of standing in indignation. Richard followed suit and Cedric merely groaned and rested his head in his hands. He knew better than to attempt to interfere. That was always left to their father.   
  
Charles had not been far away - certainly he had been too close for Cedric to attempt a secretive conversation with his brothers, even if they hadn't been at each other's throats. He had been otherwise occupied with the perusal of some legal documents, but now he looked up in annoyance. Just in time to stop whatever it was that was about to leave William's lips. "That will be ENOUGH, both of you!" he demanded, standing and slamming a heavy hand down on the table. The two brothers stopped immediately and hastily sat back down, glancing down at the table. Though Cedric was not happy to have his uncle in a foul mood, there was an absurd part of him that was glad that it was Richard and William who would (for once) be on the receiving end of his wrath. He was glad that the last of the servants had long ago retired for the night - the last thing they all needed was an audience. "Just what in the King's name do you think you are doing!?" They both mumbled a reply. It sounded as though it could have been apologetic. "What was that?" Charles demanded, sharply.  
Richard spoke up a little louder. "I said, it was just a slight disagreement, uncle. We're sorry."  
"What it was, was a fight, Richard. I do not expect you to be dishonest with me."  
"But I wasn't, Uncle Charles!" Richard protested earnestly. William nodded, for once quite easily reconciled with his brother. "You were", Charles insisted, "as was William." Then he turned his attention to Cedric who had assumed he was relatively safe in this particular instance. "And what of you?" he asked. Cedric shrugged uncertain of what he was meant to say. "It was none of my business, uncle," he offered truthfully.  
"None of your business?" Charles repeated incredulously. "You did not think it your business to attempt to stop a fight between your brothers?" he asked. "You were content to simply let the whole scene spiral out of control?" Cedric couldn't believe it. Charles had actually found a way to blame this on him. Apparently William was not happy about it, either surprisingly pleasing Cedric. "This had nothing to do with Cedric, uncle," he insisted. Once again, hard eyes were turned to the two elder Greys. "Is that so?" he asked, dangerously. They looked more than a little apprehensive. They were used to their father becoming exasperated, even angry at their fights, but this was different. Their father's anger was ultimately more bark than bite. There was something about Charles' anger that ran far deeper than that. "Cedric, you know where your room is. Go there now and into bed." Cedric exchanged startled glances with his brothers, not knowing what to say. "Go!" Charles added as he saw the young man hesitate, "I wish to deal with your brothers alone." Cedric obeyed, uncertainly and rose to his feet. They had all earlier been shown their rooms as their bags were taken up and, as suspected Cedric had been placed next to Charles. His heart pounding in his chest, he reluctantly made his way upstairs and into his room. This was certainly not a night to disobey, so he quickly undressed and climbed into bed, turning to lie facing the window. The wooden shutters were open and a cool breeze blowing through the room. He lay staring out at the black night. Once again they appeared to have stopped in an easily forgetable town, secluded from many inhabitants. He focused on the nightly wildlife, on the moon and the constellations, on the faintest sounds of human activity that he could hear: soft singing, merry music, an occasional rattle of a cart. In the distance he could make out the sounds of cattle and horses. Anything. Anything than downstairs.  
  
He wasn't sure how much time had elapsed since he had fallen into his contemplation, but it certainly felt like at least an hour. Now, however, he sat up in bed as he heard the sounds of footsteps on the outer landing. He sat in absolute silence and listened, very aware of the sound of his breathing in the pitch black blanket of the night. Murmured voices were floating through the cracks in the doorway and he followed them down the hall-way until they stopped, replaced by the sounds of creaking doors opening. They were undoubtedly the sounds of his returning brothers. He found himself both filled with trepidation and immensely glad. They sounded all right. Then something hit him like lightening: he had not heard his uncle come up with them. He waited for a few moments more, listening carefully but still he heard nothing. Was it then possible, that he was finally alone with his brothers? He almost didn't dare to hope so. He could feel his heart resume its quickened rhythm in his chest, beating out an all-too-familiar staccato. His skin prickled all over. He was still wary of any disobedience, but as far as he could see, now was his only chance. His uncle still had not emerged: Cedric made a decision; he took his chance. As it would later transpire, it was to be a wise move.   
  
Swinging his legs out of bed until his feet touched down on the cool wooden floor, he moved away from the bed and over to the door. Carefully and as silently as possible, he eased it open, aware both of the inherent creak of the wood and the possibility of his uncle retiring for bed at any moment. He had no doubts that the man would check on all of them before he disappeared for the night and so he knew that he would have to make the meeting quick. Once out of his room, he crept along the hall-way down two doors until he got to Richard's room. They had not been able to obtain four rooms next to each other and so Cedric and Charles were separated from the two boys by a couple of doors. William and Richard however, were next to each other. Cedric knocked very lightly on Richard's door. It was only after he had done so, that it occurred to him that they might not want to be disturbed. It was too late for second thoughts, however. The door slowly opened and Richard peered out. He seemed surprised when he saw who it was, though who he might have been expecting Cedric didn't know. "What do you want, Cedric?" he asked wearily and apparently much subdued. Cedric hesitated for a moment. This was the part where he was meant to tell his brothers all that was on his mind, but suddenly he was at a loss for words at how to begin. When his mouth came to its senses, he decided to focus on the immediate concerns - standing out in this hallway was not the safest option. "Could I come in?" he whispered, "I need to talk to you. And William," he added. For a moment, he thought Richard would refuse - he was clearly considering this carefully. Finally he relented. "Very well, but be quick." He opened the door enough to allow Cedric in, and the young man shot past him gratefully.  
  
Once inside, he perched himself on the foot of Richard's bed waiting out a rather awkward silence as neither of them knew what to say next. Cedric knew he wanted to ask Richard what had happened downstairs but he also instinctively knew that it was not something to be discussed. He had, instead to focus on why he had come there. "Eh, could we somehow get William?" he asked. With an air of annoyed indifference but secretly glad of having something to do, Richard nodded curtly and moved to the wall. He knocked three times, lightly and presently he was rewarded with two taps back. A moment later, Richard opened his door and William was waiting there, curious but silent until he was safely inside. "What's going on Richard?" he asked noticing Cedric. "You heard what Uncle Charles said."  
"I know", Richard agreed, "but Cedric here is being very secretive. He seems to think it's important."  
"What is?" William asked. Cedric took a deep breath.   
"Well, I'm not sure what exactly but, well have either of you noticed anything slightly...odd about Uncle Charles?" He watched their reactions carefully. Would they believe him, he wondered? For a moment their expressions remained neutral but as his words began to sink in, they gradually became uncomfortable. "What do you mean?" William asked, carefully.  
"I mean, I've noticed some things here, and at Covington Cross which make me...uncomfortable around him. Like he seems to have a lot of secrets and...and well he does have a bit of a ..."  
"Temper?" Richard finished for him. Cedric nodded, not sure whether it was a good sign or not, that his fears were being confirmed.  
"Now hold on a minute", William cut in, raising a hand to forestall the line of argument. "Yes, I will certainly agree that he's stricter than father but if we admit it, he is not entirely unjust. Think about it, Richard!" he urged, as his brother opened his mouth clearly to argue. "He's been angry with Cedric this trip, which Cedric, you'll probably agree has influenced your opinion of him. But his anger wasn't totally uncalled for - you disappeared for hours, he was very worried. As for tonight...well, Father would have been angry as well. Uncle Charles just isn't as used to it as Father is." Cedric could see that Richard was taking William's point seriously and, though he was losing credibility for his theory, there was a part of him that longed to accept William's theory as well. How wonderfully easy it would be if he could dismiss all of his fears as completely irrational. He could cope with a strict, temporary guardian, if that was the most sinister aspect about him - he really could: he'd be glad to. "Possibly", Richard was saying, slowly, "but when I think about it, he has been a little odd at Covington Cross as well. Little things - not enough to really put my finger on."  
"Shh!" William exclaimed, suddenly becoming very still and dropping his voice back down to a whisper. They all froze. "I think I hear him coming. I'm going back to my room." With that he barely said goodnight to the other two before he slipped out of the room and back into his own. Sure enough, there were sounds from below moving above. Even if they had had all the time in the world, Cedric doubted whether he would have voiced his concerns about Charles' past. He just didn't have the support to his claims: he didn't even know what claims he was making.  
  
"You'd better go quickly!" Richard urged. Cedric nodded and slipped out of the room.  
Once back on the landing, his eyes were plunged into blackness once more and his direction was lost. He had to make his way carefully until his eyes adjusted to the light and he could tell how many doors down he had left to go. The ascending creaks on the stairs were getting louder and louder and in a moment of panic, Cedric realised that he still didn't know how much farther he had to go but he knew for sure that his uncle would appear before he had a chance to get back safely inside his room. His mind began to race. Not only did he not want Charles to realise that he has shared his suspicions with his brothers, but he also did not want to cause them any more trouble that night. He would be caught regardless but there was no reason why they should be. Charles was almost on the top step to the landing now and very quickly, Cedric spun around and began creeping in the opposite direction towards his brothers' rooms. At that moment, Charles emerged on the landing and, his eyes fully adjusted to the light, spotted the figure of the young man easily. "Cedric!" he hissed, quietly. Cedric turned round, pretending to be caught unawares. Quickly he moved towards his uncle who took him roughly by the arm, dragging him to outside the boy's own door. "Where did you think you were going?" he demanded. Cedric gulped. It wasn't hard to act nervous, even if it was for a slightly different reason than the one his uncle suspected him of. "I, uh...I was just going to check on Richard and William. I wanted to see how they were," he lied. Fortunately, Charles believed him. He assumed. He opened the door to Cedric's room and pulled the young man inside with him. He didn't release him once inside but delivered him a stinging slap across his face before pushing him down onto the bed. "I will not have you creeping around at night! When I tell you to go to bed, it does NOT mean roam freely - is that clear?" Cedric was too shocked to speak so he just nodded, mutely. With that, Charles swept from the room and Cedric could hear him move down the hall to check on the others. He climbed back into bed and willed his breathing to return to normal. This had not been a good night, and though he prayed that the following would be easier, he had serious doubts on it.   
  
The next morning was dreaded by all of the young Greys. They expected a stern silence, they expected another lecture: what they got, was a cheery 'Good Morrow' and an excited explanation that that night they would arrive in Chester. Bafflement was quickly overridden by immense relief as they ate their breakfast without the ominous black cloud they had all been expecting over their heads. It was only Cedric who retained an ounce of suspicion - he didn't think it would ever truly go away.   
  
The day's travel was also peaceful. They had left the inn just before noon. This time, Cedric had not veered from his family and had remained dutifully by his uncle's side. They made steady progress as the sun shone down on them brightly. A gentle breeze through the carriage windows offered a much needed relief to the heat. All in all, it was quite comfortable - even Cedric's spirits were lightened a little at the prospect of actually reaching Chester that night. The sooner they arrived the sooner they could return. He had to admit, it might even still be interesting to visit the courts. Charles kept up a steady stream of conversation with his brothers about the business at hand, his investments overseas and how Eleanor must be driving their father to distraction by now.   
  
They stopped once more to rest and freshen up. As the day was fine, they drank their mead by the water mill, along the stream that ran behind the inn. As they took their boots off and stretched their legs (William and Richard deciding to dip their feet into the cool spring), Cedric asked Charles how far into Chester, Christleton was. "Perhaps half a day's ride", he had answered casually. Cedric gave the matter no more thought after that. They began the last leg of their journey that day with at least one member of the group pleasantly surprised by the uneventful time. Events, however, Cedric discovered would happen that very night instead and as he looked back on those days that preshadowed his darkest night, he would always regret his lack of insight and judgement on the night that they finally reached Chester.  
  
The night had begun as all the others had - well enough. By now they were all becoming quite used to the routine that had arisen: settle in; dinner; conversation; perhaps a game; then bed. It had become so common place that Cedric had never worked out what had possessed him to try and alter it that night.   
He had however and in doing so, he set in motion a chain of events that he could never have predicted. Later - much later, his brothers and sister would remark amongst themselves how fortunate he had been that night. Cedric could never bring himself to share the same opinion. He had finished dinner with his family and sat through the usual discussions. He had actually been included this night because Charles was insisting he should be his right hand man in the courts the next day and was busy prepping him with all sorts of useful information. After the discussions were over, the night had progressed steadily and Charles declared that they should all retire for the evening. Everything was proceeding normally.   
  
Cedric had bade his uncle goodnight, as had his brothers and had made his way to his room. Once inside however, he found that was not tired enough to sleep. Perhaps he should have attempted to settle down regardless? As he sat on the bed, idly scuffing the floor with his shoe, he did consider that. But he was truly restless, perhaps because of the morrow's itinerary? Either way, Cedric decided that, despite the previous night's warnings, the best course of action would be to go for a walk. That decided, he paused with his hand on the door handle. Charles had been in a foul mood last night because of his brothers but still, Cedric wanted an excuse if he should be caught roaming again. An idea flashed into his mind: the inn was right next to a church. He knew it would still be open this late as he could still see candles burning in the building through his window. Technically he was still studying to be a cleric and he had meant to keep up with his prayers for the Friar's sake. Quickly, Cedric dragged his bag out from underneath his bed and fumbled around in it for a minute, silently swearing that he had packed it. Presently, he made a triumphant 'ah-ha!' and pulled out his small crucifix. This would make his story more convincing: he wouldn't have to actually leave the inn, but if he were questioned, the little symbol could lend good credence to his story that he had been on his way to ask if he might be permitted to go. Besides, he had taken the cross out once before on the journey and his uncle had admired it then, so Cedric knew that Charles was aware that he was meant to continue with his prayers during the journey.   
  
Safe with his excuse, Cedric slipped the small crucifix into the folds of his pocket and made his way down the passage. One careful foot in front of the other, Cedric lightly made his way along the passage, his heartbeat quickening just a touch. A wind picked up quite strongly outside. Cedric could hear it moaning in the trees. He pricked his ears at a noise from downstairs. Someone was coughing: it was his uncle. Cedric frowned: that meant he couldn't go downstairs yet. He knew he could always test out his excuse, but he really did not want to do that unless he had to. He listened as the bar-keep enquired whether his uncle wanted any more ale. "Nay, nay," Charles declared, "I shall retire now, I thank thee." Cedric swore sharply under his breath. The stairs were not that long and Charles had practically been right by them when he had last spoken. He was determined NOT to go through the events of last night. Rather than trying to escape, he would simply hide for the time being. A door stood at the end of the passageway, right opposite the stair-case. Cedric tentatively tried it - it was unlocked. Slowly he pushed it open and peered inside. Though it was dark, it appeared empty. Good, he thought, I haven't the time to go wandering around. Quickly he slipped inside and shut the door.   
  
The sounds of his approaching uncle were almost upon him. He backed up a few steps in the darkness, suddenly feeling guilty for his trespass. With a small squeal of shock, his foot bumped into something small but heavy behind him, almost knocking him over. He both steadied, and quieted himself quickly and turned to see what he had just knocked, but he fervently hoped, had not broken. At first glance, it appeared to be a wooden case: at second glance it appeared suspiciously familiar and with a third and final glance, he recognised it as his uncle's trunk! A wave of panic crashed over him - of all the stupid and ill-fated things to do - he had slipped into his uncle's room in an attempt to hide from the man. The door handle began to turn - he could not be found in there! That much he knew for certain. Cedric moved in a rushed daze. Heavy spun curtains lined the window and ran the length of the wall, rolling onto the floor like a bridal train. He made for those as fast as his legs could carry him, tucking himself well under the fabric and ensuring that his feet were completely hidden. His heart was going nine to the dozen and Cedric was absolutely convinced that Charles would HAVE to be able to hear it thumping: it was almost deafening after all.   
  
The door creaked open: through a gap in the folds, Cedric could see a heavy-set man enter the room. It had to be his uncle though he could be sure of nothing until the lantern was lit. Now the thought of how he was ever going to steal out unnoticed was spinning round his head. If he was lucky, then Charles would follow his normal routine and check on each of his charges before he retired for the night. If he moved fast, Cedric could slip out and then test his excuse out on his uncle. If Charles broke from routine, then the despondent young man mused that he would have to wait until his uncle was well and truly asleep and then make his break. All in all, this was not a good night.   
  
The lantern was lit and a dim light flooded the room. Charles gently shut the door behind him. As Cedric watched however, he made no move to check on him and his brothers - nor did he appear to be settling down for the night. Instead, he began pacing the floor. He was extremely agitated and, though his vision was partially obscured, Cedric knew enough of his uncle to know the movements were angry. The violent swish of his arms as he walked, the stomping of his feet and the sharp, abrupt spin on his heel when a wall halted his progress in one direction. Cedric had seen all the mannerisms before. This time, however, there was something else there, something he had not witnessed before. For a moment Cedric could not put his finger on it though it seemed as if it should be instinctively familiar somehow. Then it hit him: fear. So often the instigator of it in others, this time it was his uncle who was the one possessed. Cedric had felt that emotion many times that journey, but not the way his uncle was experiencing it now: this was not mind-numbing fear - this was dangerous fear, the kind that drives a person over whatever edge they were balancing on. In Charles Grey, Cedric thought it a very unwise combination.   
  
He had no time to think about what had caused this fear because a sudden noise almost startled him into revealing his hiding place. Charles didn't notice the slight rustle of the curtains, however. Unlike Cedric he appeared to have been expecting the noise, if not welcoming it. The noise, it turned out was a gentle but insistent knock at the door and it sounded once more before Charles slowly swung the door open. Cedric had been leaning slightly out of his cover, but the moment a second figure entered the room, he immediately scrunched back against the wall, praying this figure was no more observant than his uncle was being. Very cautiously, he once again peered through the crack in the curtains, both terrified and desperate to see what would unfold next.  
The figure was that of a man, about the same height and build as his uncle and he moved into the room with quiet confidence. His movements were similar to his uncle's - angry, dangerous. His uncle began talking first, in a low, wary voice: "This will be the last time that we meet, Edward."  
"We will meet until this matter is resolved!" Edward replied, sharply. Cedric breathed in sharply as the man, Edward strode to stand by the window, his back to Cedric and momentarily blocking the rest of the scene from view. There was something oddly familiar about that voice. "There is nothing more to resolve," Charles answered, tightly, "I have given you all that I shall. You will dissist from sending me letters at Covington Cross. They will grow suspicious!"  
"The money I was given was only sufficient while you were out of the country. You agreed to go to France and never to return to England. You should not have broken our agreement."  
"And you should not have come here! Do you not realise that you are putting us both in danger? If people should see us together..."  
"And who would do that?" Edward scoffed, moving away from the window to stand opposite Charles. Charles had not moved from his position by the bed and he stood there now, hands placed angrily on his hips. "Someone has!" he spat back, a sliver of panic in his voice. "My nephew saw me returning from the woods after one of your pointless meetings." Edward's face palled ever so slightly, his voice becoming laced with concern. "What does he know?" he asked, sharply. The blood was pounding so quickly round Cedric's head that he feared he might faint right then and there. Charles ran a sweaty palm over his haggered face. "I don't think he knows anything," he answered finally, "but that doesn't mean he won't ask more questions." He gave a low chuckle. "He's like that, is the boy. Nothing like his father. I really do admire that child."  
"But he's not a threat yet?" Edward asked, wanting to be very sure on this matter.  
"No", Charles replied firmly. Was Charles...defending him? Cedric wondered - he honestly couldn't tell. Edward moved in to his uncle a step closer. "This will be the last time I tell you, Charles. The money is not enough - think of the sacrifices I've made for you!" Charles grunted in disbelief. "You were perfectly happy to make them at the time," he pointed out.  
"That is irrelevant!" Edward snapped, "Remember this, Charles Grey - I have killed for you and you are always indebted to me...and my silence." Charles' face darkened.  
"If you talk, Edward - you will be tried along with me."  
"I know the sheriff, Charles - he would strike me a bargain, I promise you."  
"Bloodshed would go directly to the King's Court, you fool!" Charles pointed out, venomously. Edward stopped - it was clear he had not considered this. The ensuing silence was unbearable: Cedric's head was spinning with a thousand different thoughts that threatened to topple him where he stood. Abruptly, Edward turned from Charles and stalked back towards the window. This time he stood facing it, facing Cedric and the young man held his breath against the curtains. Edward was close enough to reach out and touch. The folds of his cloak brushed up against the curtain edge, causing Cedric to uselessly back away even further. Cedric stood, transfixed: there was nothing to do but stare ahead of him and pray that this man moved away soon. As he stared, he took in the fabric of the cloak in front of him. It almost sparkled in the candle light in a kind of familiar way. The gold and silver pattern caught the light perfectly. Like lightening, a piece of the rapidly forming puzzle slotted in to place. This man was the man from the road, what seemed like many nights ago, but in reality was only three. The voice, the build, the clothes - it all fitted: the only thing Cedric didn't know, was what it fitted into.   
  
Much to the hidden youth's relief, Edward turned from the window and walked back to Charles. "You have not won this, Charles Grey. Rest assured I will not let this matter drop and you may expect to hear from me again."  
"I shall be expecting you, then," Charles answered, coldly. That was the last they spoke to each other. As silently as he entered, Edward left the room and shortly thereafter, the inn. Cedric waited as Charles watched him leave. His heart surged when he saw Charles make to leave the room also. This was his chance. His hand shot to his mouth as a sudden pain ripped through the ball of his left foot. Cedric tried his very best to withstand the cramp, but he could not help himself: he stumbled forward a step. Immediately he froze. Charles had looked up from the door he was about to exit, and was now staring sharply at the curtains. He did not move from his spot, but still his gaze lingered where Cedric remained, trembling where he stood. He would be discovered - he just knew he would be discovered and hauled out from his hiding place - forced to reveal all that he knew and all that he suspected. He could barely breathe from the fear and he felt his head swimming violently. However, Charles' gaze passed over him and he swiftly left the room. Cedric could scarcely believe it. He dared not make a run for it right away. Instead he waited for a few more heartbeats. The sound of the creaking stairs could be heard, then a slow but steady descent. The footsteps faded as they reached the bottom, but then Cedric heard the unmistakable sound of the inn door opening and closing. His uncle had left.   
  
It didn't take him long to act. With a panic he tore the curtains off from him as they had now wrapped themselves quite firmly around him - imprisoning him like a cocoon. He ran from his uncle's room and did not stop until he had reached his own. Flinging the door open, he collapsed inside, shutting it firmly and falling down onto the bed. His heart was pounding painfully in his chest, head and throat. He could not will himself to fall asleep - he could not even force himself to undress. All he could do, was crawl under the covers and pray for the light of morning.  
  
***  
  
He did not know when his uncle had returned that night, or when he himself had eventually succumbed to exhaustion. All he knew is that he woke up with the sun streaming through his window. And he was fully clothed. He rose and stretched. Not sure of what he should do first, he decided that a change of clothes would be required - both to avoid suspicion and ominous odours. He brought out his travelling bag from under his bed and searched it for a change of garments. As he stripped off his old shirt, however, a sudden fear gripped his heart. Hastily he shook out first his jacket, then his shirt. It was no where. He searched all around his room but it only confirmed his worse fears: his small gold crucifix, was gone. With a thudding heart, he could only imagine one place where it might be. He had to know - had to be sure, that his uncle didn't know. Please God, he thought to himself, don't let him know.  
  
He left his room and went to the foot of the stairs. Chattering was coming from down stairs. His brothers and uncle were having breakfast. 'Excellent', Cedric thought, 'I'll creep in now and check'. Quickly he moved into his uncle's room and made straight for where he had stayed last night. He reached the curtains and hastily drew them back. He scoured the floor, the folds of the curtains, the floor in front of the window. His heart sank: the cross was gone and his uncle knew.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Part 4

Relative Strangers - Chapter Four  
Author: Polly Spencer  
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies - please see part one for full disclaimer and summary.  
  
Author's note: I know, I humbly confess and apologise that this has taken me so long to continue but I'd like to thank everyone who's been kind enough to review this story and everyone who emailed me to give encouragement! You guys are really kind and have inspired me to keep going. I only hope it's been worth the wait and that I haven't let you down at the end. Anyway, on with show :)  
  
  
***  
  
Cedric had run back to his room and sunk heavily down onto his bed. He held his hands   
tightly between his knees, willing them to stop shaking. 'I'm being irrational,' he told himself. 'You could have lost that cross anywhere and even if Charles DID find it, what's to say that he didn't think it was his own? Or this...Edward's? Or maybe even a previous guest's? After all he could only have had a brief glance of it earlier in the journey?' Even as he reasoned the words in his mind, his thumping heart was telling him otherwise. With a wave of cold air, he recalled the events of the previous night - did this mean his uncle was a murderer? No, he thought - this Edward had actually done the deed - whatever that deed was? He still knew next to nothing about the details, and despite his observations, he still had no proof of anything.   
  
"Cedric?"   
  
It had been William, calling from downstairs. He jumped at the intrusion. "What is it?" he called down, trying to sound as casual as possible.  
  
"Are you joining us or not - it's getting pretty late, you know?"   
  
He thought frantically for a moment. It was doing him no good remaining where he was. He may as well go and join his brothers - perhaps he could find a way of telling them what he had seen? "Uh...yes - I overslept. I'll be down now."  
  
Quickly he assembled his things together, finished dressing, then went downstairs.  
  
When he finally emerged in front of his family, he saw that breakfast was well and truly over. It must be later than he had thought. "I'm afraid you're too late for breakfast Cedric," Charles greeted him, lightly, "but I've saved you a half loaf. You may eat it in the coach - just don't tell your father I encouraged such bad habits. Come now, children! Cedric I see that you are packed - our bags are already dealt with so let us depart promptly." He rose from the table and Richard and William did the same.   
  
Cedric simply stood where he was, his mouth hanging slightly open, unsure of what to make of the scene around him. Charles was jovial but by now, Cedric knew that counted for very little. But William and Richard were there and everything appeared to be very business-like and ordinary. He decided to comply. At the nearest opportunity, he would discuss his concerns with his brothers. For now though, he must board the coach and hope for the best.  
  
A short, balding man came from behind him and gathered up his bags, taking them outside to the waiting vehicle. Cedric followed him out and clambered aboard as Charles entered from the other door. The driver had already been waiting in his seat and now Charles leaned forward to give him further instructions. Shifting slightly in his seat, Cedric leaned out the window to see his brothers milling up to the side of the coach. "Be good, Cedric," Richard said lightly, as he stood by his window. "What do you mean?" Cedric demanded, alarm sounding in his voice. His brothers should have boarded the coach by now, surely.  
  
No one answered him. Instead, Charles leant over him to speak with William and Richard. "Now you haven't forgotten what you have to do, have you? I've left the documents with Richard and the man you're looking for should be in the Shire Courts this morn at eleven."  
"We know what to do, uncle," they both assured him. At this, Cedric found his voice again,  
"What's going on?" he repeated, "where are you two going?"  
"It's all right Cedric," Richard assured him. "Uncle Charles has made some enquiries about purchasing some land here. We're meeting with the current owner today and riding up to join you tomorrow."  
"There's no need to worry," William added, seeing the colour slowly draining from Cedric's cheeks.   
  
"Right then! Drive on!" Charles called out. With a crack of the whip, the horses whinnied into action and started off at a canter. Cedric sat back heavily in his seat, trying hard not to look at Charles seated across from him. This had all happened so quickly that he was hardly sure what to make of it. He glanced down at the rough road, speeding by along side them. For the second time that journey, he felt the urge to leap from the carriage and make a run for it. But this time, where would he run, to? Covington Cross could not be further away and his brothers had also gone their own ways. Above all else, what he had feared most, had now come to pass: they were alone together at last.  
  
***  
  
  
  
The day wore on and as much as it surprised him, it wore on too quickly for Cedric. He had thought the hours in the carriage would drag - that one minute would seem like an hour. But they did not. Before he knew it, night was falling.   
  
Charles had been thoughtful, silent for most of the journey. They had stopped without incident at a roadside inn and enjoyed a seemingly pleasant meal before continuing to Christledon.  
Charles spoke lightly of the men he remembered from his last trip to Christledon and of the money owed to him from investors. He prepared Cedric for the likely scenes of court and informed him of the small role he was to play, taking notes, bearing witness and so on. Cedric merely nodded, his jaw set but his eyes wavering. Neither one spoke of last night or of crosses or of suspicions. Cedric could almost have willed himself to give in to his desire to believe Charles to be completely ignorant of his little unauthorised visit that night: almost.  
  
They had arrived in Christledon shortly after noon and proceeded straight to the town court.   
  
Despite his anxiety Cedric could not help but glean a slither of interest at the pomp and ceremony. The landed deeds were read out in Charles' name and witnesses were brought forward to confirm his identity.   
  
"And who shall bear witness to this testimony?" the Lord had asked.  
  
At a nod from Charles, Cedric had stepped forward. "I do, My Lord, Cedric Grey." The lord had nodded his assent and then the parchment was handed to him. "You will swear before Almighty God who knows all the secrets of our hearts and then make your mark upon the page."  
  
Cedric did as he was bid and when all was satisfactorily concluded, Charles made light talk with some before leading Cedric from the court.   
  
"Is the business done then, Uncle?" Cedric had asked, tentatively.   
"Aye lad, it is." They were walking slowly, side by side along the riverbank. The sun beat a weary stream on their heads and Cedric longed for the comfort of shade - perhaps a meal and drink as well. They had not been the first order of business in the courts, and as such the evening had drawn on whilst they had been inside. "Then we are to return to the others? And to Covington Cross?"  
Charles had looked at him, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Of course, boy. Or would you rather have us stay here?"  
"No!" he had agreed, perhaps a little too quickly than he should have.   
"We'll ride back then?"  
"Certainly. At first light - you cannot expect us to journey at night? No," he had continued, without giving Cedric time to answer, "there is a public house up the way - it will suit us fine. Your brothers must be finishing their business by now."  
  
***  
Their conversation by the riverside had been a scant two hours ago and now the dark gloom had fallen all around them, covering them all in a thick blanket of night. It was a close fit as well. As Cedric lay in his bed, watching the moon slowly passing across his window, he could feel the heat cocooning him securely yet unwontedly.  
  
His thoughts darted hither and thither around his mind. In the morning they would ride out, back to his brothers, to his father and Eleanor: back home. He never thought that simple word would mean so much to him - could cause him so much grief and joy at the same time. For a brief moment, his mind turned to his mysterious, estranged brother Armus. He'd never seen the man, possibly he never would though his family constantly prayed for Good Fortune. But at that moment, Cedric thought he felt closer to Armus than any of his family could ever appreciate. They were both away from home, both uncertain of return, both alone.   
  
Though he strove to continue his contemplation, Cedric could feel his eyelids getting heavy. They had dined well that night - in celebration apparently and Charles had been very generous with the spiced wine. Thomas always regulated the young man, afraid of his endurance levels. Charles had no such concerns and allowed the young man the same freedom that he often envied his brothers for. As such, he was feeling pleasantly drowsy and mellow, almost melting into the mattress, the passing of the moon and clouds taking on the tranquil ebb and flow of the sea. A warm breeze ruffled his hair and shirt and his gently resting eyelids grew gradually heavier and heavier till sleep finally sealed them tightly and securely shut.   
  
***  
  
The sleep was deep, and filled with dreams, pleasant and light but nonetheless, at the stroke of three, he awoke drenched in a cold sweat, shivers coursing through his body.  
  
At once his dreams escaped him, but not the remnants of sleep. His body remained stubbornly attached to the thin mattress as if he were lying on the clouds themselves, despite the chills of the night. With a small groan, he rolled himself over to face the open window. Suddenly the sheet that had provided amply warmth before, was now found severely lacking. A decision had to be made: he was tired and comfortable but that would not last long once the chill set in. Best to remedy the situation now, he decided. That way the rest of the night could pass undisturbed.   
  
Swinging his legs over the bed, he recoiled slightly as his feet hit the floor: it was icy cold to   
the touch as if the dead of winter had suddenly set up camp in his room in direct defiance of the surrounding summer night. Now he wished he had his travelling cloak closer to hand. He reached down to the end of his bed and felt for the clothes he had left there earlier. Ah yes, there they were - trousers, over shirt and, down on the floor, his boots. Slipping all the garments quickly on, he once again stood up, this time padding softly over to the window.  
  
However as he reached it and drew the wooden shutters closed, he began to notice that, despite his earlier assumptions, there had been no breeze coming from that window. The air was dead and still. Yet still the chill remained, prickling the hairs on the back of his neck in sharp punctuated tugs.   
His breathing a little quicker now, he turned on the spot, his back pressed against the now shuttered window. Without the moonlight the room was suddenly that much darker and scanning the blackness, he saw nothing. The chair stood where it always had, by the foot of the bed, the table too where he had left it - everything perfectly undisturbed.  
  
Deciding he was being silly, he made his way back into bed. Still, nothing could prevent the mad dash to be back under the covers as opposed to the dignified walk of an adult. He didn't even bother to undress as he threw the blanket around him and snugly tucked in the edges underneath him. His brothers would doubtless laugh at him, his father might even be ashamed, but Cedric didn't care. That night, he had never felt so childish or been so keenly aware of how far away he was from becoming a man.   
He buried his head under the pillow and screwed his eyes shut, willing his thumping heart beat to slow down - the noise was almost deafening. Through sheer will power the drumming ceased. As the minutes passed and nothing happened, ever so slowly his tensed muscles began to relax. Cedric allowed a sliver of air to pass through a gap in the blankets and as he did this, he realised how much his lungs could actually do with some oxygen. Carefully, the young man extricated himself from under the blanket and once more, surveyed his surroundings.   
  
The air did seem warmer this time but still his nerves remained on edge. Though he could see nothing in the darkness, there was something else nagging him: he could hear - no, sense something near by. It was close, calling him whispering all around him, rattling the shutters on the windows. His palms began to sweat and his gaze darted furiously about the room. He propped himself up on his elbows, backing himself as tightly against the wall behind his head as he could.   
He dared not close his eyes though he dearly wished that he could. With a knife sharp jolt of certainty, Cedric understood that at that very moment, he was no longer alone.  
  
"Hello?" Came the throaty whisper. A moment later he realised it had come from his own mouth though what had given him the courage to speak, he knew not. Silenced answered him, jarring his senses more loudly than a thousand screams could have. His heart stopped. Was that movement? By the window? No - his eyes followed the movement, amazingly well given the lack of light. Something seemed to be radiating its own light source though his brain did not stop to contemplate that at that precise moment. There it was again! A sound this time - a rustling moving from the window now and towards the bed. This time, the blood pounding in Cedric's ears could not be so easily ignored. He could no longer speak, no longer move, no longer breathe. All he could do was wait, paralysed, sweat pouring in rivulets down his neck and back and soaking into the rugged mattress beneath him. Outside in the night sky, the clouds must have shifted for striking through the gaps in the shutters came a single shaft of bright, white moonlight, cutting an arc across the path to Cedric's bed. He did not know how long this illumination would last for, but whoever was coming closer to the bed would have to pass through it if they wished to reach his upper body. His vision began to swim with fright and the thudding in his ears had now turned to a high pitched ringing.   
  
The shadows lightened on the outskirts of the moonbeam and Cedric could make out the silent rustle and crease of fabric. His gaze had locked further up however, towards the face. 'Another step', his mind cried out, 'Just one more step...'   
  
The figure stepped forward.  
  
The light did its job admirably. Out of the darkness appeared the figure Cedric had been preparing himself for - the inevitability of fear and attack - the eyes, cold and demonic; the lips, curled in anger and hate: evil in every pore. So when his intruder's face was finally illuminated in blinding clarity and Cedric took in the pale gentle face, soft curling hair and alert frightened, but kindly eyes, he let out a soft, strangled cry.   
  
"Nan!" he breathed.   
  
With a tangle of arms and legs, Cedric managed to stumble out of bed. He scoured the room frantically but it seemed that the darkness had reclaimed her. Cursing, he fumbled on the wall for the candles but try as he might, he could not locate them. "Nan?" he called.   
There was no answer. Moving to the window, he tried to throw back the shutters but he found them to be stubbornly sealed shut and unrelenting. By now however his eyes had adjusted to the pitch blackness and he took in his surroundings more easily. To his surprise and dismay, he saw that she had vanished. The door to his room rested slightly open and so he made for it in haste. His mind whirled: what was she doing here? She must have followed him, all the way from Covington Cross - but why? The door was heavy and as he passed through, he heard it swing gently shut behind him.  
  
The corridor outside of his room was deserted but Cedric raced to the end of it anyway to look out onto the grounds below. She couldn't have come this far, this fast, he told himself. 'If you even saw her', he reminded himself. 'After all, it was dark and your mind was playing tricks on you. Perhaps you just imagined it out of longing to be back home?'   
It was then that he spotted the staircase. Of course! The first place he should have gone to, he mentally chastised himself. He moved surprisingly silently given his present state of agitation and remarkably quickly. Taking the stairs two at a time at a speed that normally earned him lecture or two back home, Cedric reached the bottom and hastily began to search the tavern. "Nan?" he whispered again.   
  
Suddenly, he stopped. A creaking noise had caught his attention. Cedric had turned to see where it was coming from but just as he did so, the noise stopped. He held his breath: a moment passed.   
  
Wait! There it was again - softly creaking in a steady, slow rhythm. "Is that you?" he whispered, tentatively suddenly wishing he had taken the time to bring a light after all. As the noise sounded again this time the youth's gaze cast upwards. Somebody was up there, moving around - creaking the old floorboards.   
  
His pulse began to quicken. He must have missed her. Was that her up there now, looking for him? Unconsciously, Cedric ran a hand through his dark tousled hair, now clinging to the back of his neck in sweat. His eyes darted to the top of the staircase, still shrouded in darkness. With one steadying hand on the banister he made his way carefully up the stairs. Gone was the frantic haste of earlier - now, caution ruled his pace.   
As he reached the top, he paused. His breath caught in his throat. Someone was coming down the passageway, but he knew in an instant that it wasn't Nan. Instinctively, he drew back into the staircase, hugging the shadows and blending into the night. The figure was that of a man, fully cloaked. The build and gait was familiar - too familiar. Perhaps Cedric should have said something, called out? But he did not. He simply stood, transfixed - in utter astonishment.  
  
He watched as the man stopped outside of his closed door. Cedric sincerely hoped that his pounding pulse was not audible to the strange visitor to his room or else his hiding place would be quickly given up. With a swift glance behind him, the man placed one hand on the door handle and with the other, withdrew something from the folds of his cloak. Cedric leaned in, craning his neck as far as he dared but despite his best efforts, he could not make the object out. It was small however, sleek and light and for the briefest of instants, it glinted bright silver. Though Cedric could not make out the clothes, nor the facial features, he knew without a doubt that this man was Charles. But what in God's name was he doing, sneaking into Cedric's room in the dead of night? he wondered. Charles silently pushed open the door and stepped inside. As usual, the heavy door swung back behind him but this time it did not close fully. Through the crack Cedric could make out the scene before him. Charles stood just inside the doorway, by his bed. He had obviously expected the shutters to be open for he had brought no other light with him. He hovered for a moment, obviously unsure of whether to risk disturbing the occupant by opening the shutters. After a moment's hesitation he decided to risk it. Feeling his way round the side and back wall of the room, almost knocking into the table and chair, Charles made his way to the window. Finding the latch, Cedric gazed intently as the small wooden catch was lifted up and only one window was quietly pushed open. Immediately moonlight flooded one half of the room casting the bottom half of the bed into light.  
  
Charles turned to the bed and stepped forward, into the pale beam. The hood was drawn up over his face though Cedric could now see his expression - cold and stony, eyes dark and fixed with the slightest creasing of a frown hooding his brow. And in his hand - if Cedric hadn't been sure before, there was no trace of doubt in his mind now: in his hand, Charles clutched a small, bejewelled dagger as he slunk closer to the bed like a cat moving in to its prey.   
  
Cedric could not prevent the strangled scream that escaped his lips. He barely had time to glance at Charles as the man's head shot up in surprise and his gaze fell upon the young man on the stairs. After stumbling backwards a few steps, Cedric turned on the spot and flew down the stairs. He didn't even recall his feet making contact with the ground. All he knew was that he had to get out of there - get away from his uncle.  
  
Out, through the tavern doors and into the night he ran, never stopping once to look back. His chest heaved in pain and he was amazed that his legs were even co-operating as they seemed to have been replaced with either iron or lead. Images of knighthood, of manhood, of bravery and glory were banished from his mind. It was all he could manage to keep from giving in to his urge to scream and cry. As it was he could feel tears begin to course down his face.  
  
There was movement from behind him - he presumed from Charles as he realised his nephew had left the building. Cedric paid him no heed and instead continued to run, his feet slapping on the dirt beneath him. 'God!' he thought, frantically. Where would he go? Who could he turn to for help? He realised that he barely even knew where he was - he was utterly friendless and alone. Ahead of him a noise brought him out of his thoughts though he never slowed down, not for a second. His first instinct was that it was somehow either Charles or perhaps the man he had seen at their last stop?  
  
Whoever it was, was mounted - one...no, maybe more and making for his spot with great speed. Cedric barely dared to hope. Could they be allies? Could they be friends? If he called out, would that alert them to his aid, or Charles to his location? His dilemma was short-lived however as the mounted strangers appeared to be making directly for him. He could see a light from one of them so they must be carrying lanterns.  
  
The horses slowed from their canter and came to a trotting halt shortly ahead of him. He had not heard them speak but Cedric decided that they were most likely a damn site safer than Charles was. He increased his speed until he came to a sudden halt by their horses, holding onto the reins of the front horse for support until he could catch his breath:  
  
"Please!" he rasped, gasping for air all the while, "Got to...help me! Need...get...away." He managed a glance up at the men. He could see now that there were two of them, though he could not make out the face of the one he was talking to now - this man did not have the lantern. Just then, the figure on the other horse raised his lantern and spoke to him, his voice laden with surprise of his own:  
  
"Cedric?!"   
  
It was only from his grip on the reins, that Cedric prevented himself from collapsing.   
  
Noticing his brother's distress, Richard leapt down of his horse and took Cedric securely round the waist, supporting him as the boy leaned heavily into his older brother. William too, swung down off his horse, before retrieving the lantern from the saddle and holding it up next to the assembled group.  
  
"Cedric?" he asked again, "What on Earth are you doing? What's happened?"  
  
Cedric didn't answer. Instead, nothing could have shocked William and Richard more than what he did next. Far from shrugging off the support Richard was offering him (as he had though the would-be knight would be desperate to do), Cedric flung his arms about Richard's waist and clung on for dear life, weeping bitterly as fear, exhaustion and adrenaline finally caught up with him in a torrent of emotion. Shock clearly registered on each brother's face as they stared, open-mouthed at their baby brother. However, Richard regained his composure and instinctively hugged his brother back, leading them over to a place where they could all sit down.   
  
William swiftly located a mound of turf and set the lantern down on the ground in front of it before seating himself. Richard's decent was a little more awkward given that he still held onto Cedric but it was obvious to all that the young cleric was unwilling to release his hold.  
"Now, Cedric," Richard began, "you must tell us, slowly and clearly what has happened. Where's Uncle Charles?"  
  
"Charles," Cedric explained through heaving breaths: "He...he was in my room!"  
"In your room?" William repeated. "When?"  
"Tonight! S...sneaking around - didn't know I wasn't there."  
"Where were you?" Richard wondered.  
"Downstairs."  
"Why?"  
Cedric hiccuped, "Thought I heard something..." he stammered.  
"What was he doing in your room?" William pressed gently.  
At this, Cedric began to panic again. "Had a knife!" he explained, his voice rising. "He came into my room and he had a knife - he was looking for me! You can't let him find me."  
William exchanged a startled and suspicious look with Richard.  
  
"Cedric," Richard began, calmly, "Think about this. Are you absolutely sure? After all, it was dark and you were already panicked from this noise you thought you heard." Even as he spoke, he could feel his brother vehemently shaking his head against his chest.  
  
"Cedric? Where are you boy?"  
  
All three boys spun around at the sound of the call. Cedric recoiled visibly. Despite his doubts, William instinctively found himself moving slightly in front of their youngest sibling. He didn't really believe the child - after all, Cedric had been jumpy about Charles practically since they met him - but it just wasn't like Cedric to be this upset for no reason. Until he knew what that reason was, he wouldn't dismiss a threat to his family out of hand and he knew that Richard would do the same. Charles spotted them and ran over. He appeared flustered. Concern and annoyance were clearly etched on his face.  
  
"There you are!" he exclaimed. Then he identified William and Richard. His eyebrows rose in surprise (and perhaps in more than a little alarm). However he quickly concealed this. "Richard, William! What in Heaven's name are you both doing here? And at this time of night?"  
Richard glanced over Cedric's head at his brother. "When we finished our business, we decided to ride up tonight and ride out with you both at first light. We had discovered that the route back was quicker if one doesn't have to ride back the way we came in. I'm not sure why we rode out when we did," he added thoughtfully, "it just seemed the right thing to do at the time."  
"What's going on, Uncle?" William cut in.  
"That's what I'd like to know," Charles insisted. "Cedric, what on Earth is the matter?"  
"Cedric says you were in his room tonight," Richard explained, quietly and calmly.  
To Cedric's surprise, Charles did not seem alarmed at this. "Yes, of course I was," he exclaimed as if the reason why should have been obvious. Despite himself, Cedric pulled away from his brother and turned, incredulously to face his uncle full on.   
Charles smoothly continued. "Cedric, I thought I heard noises coming from your room - running and scraping and then I heard someone moving about downstairs! I was worried for you - I thought perhaps something had happened so I went in to check on you. You can imagine my alarm when I found your bed empty and then when you ran without a word! I declare you have given me the fright of my life, Boy!"  
"And the knife?" William asked, carefully. Charles never missed a beat though he did appear surprised at the mention. "As I said, I worried the lad was in trouble. You are all in my care this journey - how could I ever have faced your father again if one of you were to be hurt? I only wish I had had my sword to hand but the knife was the first thing I found."  
  
William and Richard seemed to be considering the explanation closely. It did seem plausible and, though both would admit that their uncle could be both strict and strange at times, neither one wanted to believe him capable of murder - especially not of their little brother. It was far more comforting to believe that the danger to Cedric had not been real but had been merely a part of his over-active imagination.  
  
"What do you think, Cedric?" Richard asked, quietly. "Do you think it could have happened that way?" Cedric ignored his brother for the moment and instead directed his words at Charles. "If you awoke in the middle of the night," he asked quietly, "then why are you fully clothed?" Richard and William both bore curious expressions.  
"Why are you?" Charles returned, lightly.  
Cedric appeared uncomfortable. "I was cold," he explained, "it was suddenly very cold."  
"Well there you are then," Charles continued, "just as it was with me."  
  
"What do you think?" Richard pressed again. Cedric had heard all the words but his heart could not believe them. He hated Charles Grey and more than anything else he wanted to be back home. Despite all that he had seen and heard it appeared that he still had nothing solid to accuse his uncle of. He could scarcely believe it. But his brothers were here now, weren't they? That meant that he was safe. And they would be going home - back to Father, back to his protection. Suddenly he was very tired, mentally and physically. Drained and exhausted would have been more apt a description. Though the anger remained, fatigue washed over and controlled his body and mind. He just wanted all of this to be over - the journey, the threats, the argument.   
  
"I suppose so," he agreed finally in a weak, weary voice. Charles nodded his approval but William and Richard barely noticed. Their attention was fixed on the care of their brother.   
  
"Then let us return to our beds..." Charles began to say but he never got a chance to finish.  
"No!" Cedric cut in, the panic beginning to return to his voice. "I want to go home now!"  
"Now?" Charles repeated. "It is still the middle of the night."  
"He's right, Cedric," William pointed out, "in only a few hours it will be dawn."  
"No!" he cried, "I want to leave now! I don't want to go back in there. Please," he cried addressing his two brothers, "please can we leave now! It is almost dawn - it'll be light soon. I can't go back in there, I can't!" Richard shared a concerned glance with William. That talk that the three of them had shared two nights ago had not entirely fallen on deaf ears. The seeds of doubt had taken enough roots in their minds to justify caution now. In any event, despite the innocent explanation of the night's events it still did not alter the fact that Cedric had genuinely believed his life to be in danger. It must have been a harrowing experience for him, regardless of the outcome. Both brothers silently agreed that it would be kinder to appease their brother on this point.  
  
"I can see Cedric's point, Uncle", Richard began. "I think it would be best if we rode out tonight." Charles did not appear happy at the suggestion.  
  
"This is foolishness!" he exclaimed, angrily. "It is too dangerous, not to mention pointless to ride at night! I say we shall all stay."  
  
Richard stood up, drawing Cedric up with him and lightly placing a protective arm around his shoulders. "Cedric has had a shock tonight, Uncle. William and I are going to take him back now - respectfully," he added though his posture and manner suggested otherwise. Charles regarded all three of them carefully, his jaw squared and hard. Finally he relented.  
  
"As you wish, boy." Richard nodded almost imperceptibly then glanced at William.   
"William, why don't you go and get Cedric's bag? I'll stay here with him - keep him company. We wouldn't want him to run off again now, would we?"  
  
Charles smiled tightly as William moved off into the inn. "I'll show you to his room and collect my own bags," Charles called after him before following William inside.   
  
"Thank-you," Cedric said quietly, once Charles was out of earshot. Richard's only response was to lightly hug the boy to him quickly before releasing him. Then they turned wordlessly to the task of unsaddling the two horses and loading the boys travelling bags into the coach.  
  
***  
  
The journey home took just over a week and a half. They seemed to stop far less on the way back than they did on the outward journey and it turned out that Richard and William's short-cut had been most productive. There were no arguments, no fights, no debates: barely any one spoke a word to each other.   
  
Charles showed no signs of suspicious behaviour, Richard and William appeared to have forgotten their earlier unease but above all, Cedric never left the side of either of his brothers - even slept in the same room as them. They thought nothing more of it than childish nightmares and tolerated it without a further word of explanation.  
  
It was a slowly darkening day when they all finally arrived back at Covington Cross and watched the grand gates drawing nearer and nearer. It was all Cedric could do to keep from leaping out of the carriage and running like a mad man for his own front door. Suddenly the coach moved far too slowly. Charles had sent messengers ahead several towns ago that they were to be expected any day now and it was with great delight that three of the weary travellers, saw their father and sister standing at the main entrance way, wide grins on their welcoming faces.  
  
Barely had the wheels come to a halt on the carriage, then Cedric, followed closely by his brothers, had leapt from it. If Thomas was a little surprised at the affection his youngest son was showing, he didn't appear to show it, or mind it. Instead he gathered the young man up in his waiting arms, giving him a half-swing around, as he was wont to do when the boy was a young child. Finally he set him down again.  
"I see you are glad to be back, young man!" he exclaimed. "Did you have a productive time in Chester?" Suddenly Cedric seemed to regain his awareness. Mumbling an answer that he hoped sounded satisfactory he pulled away from his father but was immediately engulfed by his sister's hug.   
  
After all the party had exchanged greetings, Thomas sent the boys upstairs to unpack and freshen up while he and Charles discussed the trip together. As he made his way upstairs, Eleanor going with them, Cedric began to wonder just how much of the trip Charles would tell Thomas about. His mind began to whirl with implications. He would have to speak to his father about his fears, but by God - if it were hard enough to discuss that with his brothers, how on Earth could he tell his Father what he suspected Charles of? He hadn't even been able to convince William and Richard though it was safe to say that their suspicions had been aroused somewhat. Thomas would never believe him: he was Cedric after all - no one ever listened to him.   
  
Then his mind switched to another possibility. Suppose Thomas did believe him? What then? Charles would be arrested - tried in the King's Court. If he were found guilty the penalty could be death though he supposed his father could plead for leniency. Thomas was well acquainted with the King - it was possible Edward would be merciful if asked. But what then - Cedric would be held responsible for the death or imprisonment of his own uncle. Eleanor was besotted with him and though wary, Richard and William still enjoyed having an uncle around. As for Thomas...this was his brother - a man he thought he had lost fifteen years ago. If he were in his father's shoes, he thought. If it were Richard, or William or even Eleanor instead of Charles? Could he bear it if a future son accused them of murder, with no real evidence - if he caused the death of those he loved most in the world? He felt suddenly sick to the stomach at the idea. He knew the answer immediately - it was stabbing at his gut: he would hate them. He could never forgive the person who harmed his family.  
  
His trunk had been laid out on his bed. As he stood by the wash basin, he allowed his epiphany to wash through his mind. His brow felt as though it was on fire and he quickly splashed the clear cold water over his face. It helped ease a little of his physical discomfort but inside his mind still raged. Anger - at the injustice of his unavenged attack; grief - at the sadness of Mary's plight; and fear - fear of what might be still to come: all fought for supremacy, bubbling to get to the surface and burst through. The Friar would have been proud of him though: with an iron fist, he silenced them all.  
  
From the sounds downstairs, he presumed that supper had just been announced and life at Covington Cross was to carry on as normal.  
  
***  
  
Supper was a grand affair. Roasted pork, pheasant, venison - Eleanor had outdone herself. Though they had eaten well en route, Richard and William nonetheless attacked the luscious spread as though they had not seen food in weeks. Thomas had smiled at their fervour: "Those boys - always did have the appetite of an ox!" Then he had turned to address Cedric, seated as far away from the others as he could be without arousing suspicion. "Well then, Cedric - tuck in, you must be famished!" Cedric had come down to supper politely but so far, Thomas had been unable to extract more than a few curt but polite responses out of him.  
  
He seemed distant, distracted, intensely withdrawn and his appetite had waned almost into oblivion. Thomas leaned forward and examined his youngest intently. "Are you feeling ill, Cedric?" he asked, concern lacing his words. Cedric's eyes darted up to meet his father's but only for a second. Next to his father sat Charles watching him with the appearance of feigned disinterest, but Cedric knew better. Charles was in fact watching him like a hawk - those dark eyes never wavered from his target.   
  
"Our little Cedric is not a good traveller, I'm afraid Thomas," he explained lightly. "I'm sure he must be near exhausted."  
Thomas regarded him kindly. "Is that so, Cedric?" he asked sympathetically. Very slowly, his eyes downcast, Cedric simply nodded wordlessly.  
"I'm sure you shall grow out of it with experience," Thomas assured him. "This was after all, your very first journey - there will doubtless be many more to come."  
"Not if he joins a monastery," Richard pointed out. William elbowed him in the ribs but had to cover a smirk himself.  
  
Cedric pointedly ignored him, his jaw hardening. "Well Father," he continued, "perhaps not all journeys shall be like this one - it was most unusual after all."  
  
William and Richard put down their knives. From his seat next to Thomas, Charles halted the wine cup at his lips and just for a moment, brought it down to rest on the table, gaze fixed on Cedric. However, after a brief pause, resumed his drinking but his eyes remained locked.  
"Really?" Thomas asked in interest. "How so?"  
"Yes," Charles added, "Do tell us in what way."  
The young man looked from his father to Charles and then back again. He could feel his brothers' questioning, slightly nervous expressions upon him. Charles said nothing more - he knew he didn't have to.   
"Well?" Thomas prompted.  
Cedric looked away. "It was quite arduous," he finally muttered.  
"Yes - quite so!" Richard agreed quickly.   
Cedric didn't even bother to watch Charles' expression change - he knew exactly what it would be. "Well then!" Thomas exclaimed. "Perhaps it is best after all if you do all get an early night." Cedric didn't answer and was grateful when the conversation turned to other topics.  
  
Though he spoke no more, inwardly his anger consumed him. His vow of silence burned and ate away at his insides. Images, words, feelings - trappings of his recent journey entered his mind unbidden and bombarded his senses.   
  
I have killed for you, Charles - never forget that!  
  
And what of Mary!  
  
In God's honest truth, when your aunt left the castle something truly evil took residence in her place  
  
She talked not of marriage  
  
not of marriage  
  
There was love there...but it did not flow equally  
  
'He could not persuade her to stay. He coveted her but she would not listen - would not listen!'  
'He loved her but he let her go. Why? Why so? He covets what he sees and he takes what he covets.'  
  
On and on his mind raged as those around him chatted and laughed amongst themselves.  
  
"I couldn't believe it!" Eleanor was complaining. "I spoke to him in the forest for almost a full hour while I was hunting and he was actually interesting me. We spoke of culling techniques and crossbows and of skinning pigs - it turns out that all he was trying to do was woo me! The cheek of that man."  
  
"There's another word I could think of to describe him," Richard smirked but silenced himself at a look from Thomas.  
  
"Eleanor," Thomas was saying, "Suitable...well, suitors do not attempt to entice a young lady with talk of hunting and killing."  
  
"No?" she asked, resting her chin on her palm.  
  
"No," Thomas affirmed. "They sing ballads and play the lyre - they recite loving poetry."  
  
"Well I'm not!" William said gravely.  
  
"Then you'll not have much success with women, William," Thomas warned. "It is an art you must learn to perfect in this life." William and Richard both appeared a little uncomfortable at the prospect. To them, boasting about their own achievements seemed to be a sure way of attracting the maidens. Thomas saw this and grinned at them.  
  
"Not to worry, boys. I'm sure I can help you out. I do remember a few lines from my own youth you know. Your mother used to love to receive poetry. I'm sure I must still have them somewhere though I confess where alludes me for the moment. Do you remember you used to write some for Mary as well, Charles? Do you know what you may have done with them?"  
  
Charles shifted slightly in his chair and took another swig of his wine. "I am sure Mary took them with her when she left," he answered, smiling. "They were too priceless to leave behind!" The little group chuckled.  
  
"Liar."  
  
They stopped and five faces turned to the voice. Cedric's head had snapped up at the mention of her name. His eyes were dark and still but the rest of him was shaking in silent rage.   
  
Thomas was puzzled. "Pardon, Cedric?" he asked, not quite sure if he had heard correctly.  
  
Cedric fixed his stony glare on Charles though his words were addressed to Thomas.  
  
"I said", he replied emphatically, "that he is a liar."  
  
"Cedric!" Thomas admonished, sitting straighter in his chair and frowning heavily at the boy. "Apologise this instant."  
  
Charles leant forward, attempting to glare the boy down, but Cedric was past caring - anger was taking over. Ignoring his father he went on, the words coming out in a rush:  
  
"I've seen the poems that you speak of. Aunt Mary never took them because they are in your possession and you know it..."  
  
"Cedric, enough! You will..."  
  
"I will NOT! That man is a LIAR!" he screamed, standing up and slamming a fist heavily down onto the table so the table wear shook. His eyes welled up with tears of anger and frustration. "Mary never took the papers with her because HE HAS THEM - she never took anything with her because she NEVER LEFT COVINGTON CROSS!!!"   
  
His breath caught in his throat the moment the words spilled out. He didn't know where they had come from but in that instant, he knew them to be true. At that instant he knew a lot things that he would never quite come to understand how.  
  
Charles said and did nothing. Richard, William and Eleanor just sat and stared at each other in shock. Thomas leapt to his feet, his face red with fury. "Cedric," he began, his voice shaking in rage, "it is too late for apologies now. Leave this table at once and go upstairs to your room. I shall be joining you presently. GO!" he bellowed as Cedric remained for a moment where he stood, hands clenched into fists by his side, expressions of anger and hurt lining his face. All at once, he turned and fled from the room, banging the door behind him as he ran.  
  
***  
  
Cedric had left the table as instructed, but by the time he looked at where his feet were hurrying him to, his mind realised that he was not headed up to his room.   
  
Instead, he found himself where he never would have expected - traversing the gloom and dank of the dungeons. What possessed him he still knew not but he found himself placing an uneasy trust in his bizarre instincts.   
  
The walls, the cells, the low ceiling - it all still seemed oppressing, but now there was something else there too: an explanation - an explanation for his fear. 'But what could this have to do with Mary?' his mind cried out. No one came down here - for as long as he could remember, the dungeons had never been touched!   
  
They aren't all in such bad condition- see, this one's even been repaired  
  
It hit him like a slingshot.   
  
His heart was racing, he could only imagine how wild his expression must have been. Scouring the darkness ahead, he found it. The cell - dark, decaying, foreboding and the only one repaired, the lighter patch now almost fading in with the rest of the wall.   
  
"M master Cedric?" He spun to see one of the servant women standing nervously behind him, "Can I help you, sir?"  
  
Immediately he fixed his intense gaze on her. "When was this wall repaired?" he demanded, indicating the cell with a waving arm. She took a couple of steps back. It was clear that he was frightening her a little with his demeanour but he didn't care.  
  
"I...I don't know, Sir," she admitted.  
  
"You don't know or you can't remember?"  
  
"Not in my time here, young Sir," she answered timidly. His mind raced.  
  
"When did you come here?" he demanded.  
  
"I, I replaced Abigail sir."  
  
Cedric froze. "Who?", he asked carefully.  
  
"Abigail", she repeated. "It must be nigh on fifteen years now, sir and there's been nothing done since I did arrive."  
  
Oddly enough, he found his breathing slowing down. "Thank-you," he murmured, turning away from her and back towards the cell. She gave a hasty bob before gladly scurrying away.   
  
With steady strides he approached the cell. The gate was unlocked so he pushed it open with one hand and crept inside. He should have been afraid - he was afraid, but somehow...none of that mattered. Not right then.   
Cedric slowly and carefully approached the wall. With tentative movements, he ran his hands lightly over the light patch, then over the wall surrounding it. Something felt different - this part was cold, almost icy to the touch. He hadn't felt that kind of chill since...  
  
He shuddered for a second before forcing himself to shrug it away. He tore his gaze frantically around the room. It came to rest on the basket outside the cell: swords - perfect. He retrieved the sturdiest one and then brought it back inside. Standing back from the wall, he raised the sword high above his head and then brought it down in a wide, strong arc. It reverberated against the patch and almost wrung his shoulder out of its socket - but not without reward. A large crack appeared, blighting the surface like a scar. For the briefest of instants, Cedric wondered just what on Earth he thought he was doing. Then he raised the sword and struck again. The crack grew larger and chunks began to fall away. Who ever constructed this had done so in great haste - the workmanship was poor and the materials weak. As if in a frenzy, Cedric raised the sword and struck out over and over again, ignoring the throbbing pain in his arms and back. Again and again he slashed away at the crumbling wall as the hole gaped larger and larger and the sweat poured down his back.   
  
And then he stopped.   
  
Just like that, the passion ended and the driving force left him. He dropped the sword, damaged beyond use, to the floor where it clanked in protest. With his hands, he easily pulled away the last of the filling. It crumbled pitifully to the ground, laying about his feet like witnesses to a massacre. As the rubble fell, the dust had risen and now swirled around Cedric almost like a wreath, choking the air in his lungs. He coughed and raised his hand to cover his face for a moment until the cloud had settled. It seemed to take both too long and not long enough all at once.  
  
When he felt however, that it had subsided, he drew his hand away from his face and looked.  
  
He couldn't scream. It just wasn't in him: he couldn't even cry out. He felt the tears though, hot and heavy, welling up as grief flooded his senses even before his mind knew the truth.   
  
She stood there, encased in the wall, fragments of a dress still clinging loosely to her frame, a spark of silver lighting the dullness of her bones.  
  
With careful, reverent hands, he reached out to the silver about her neck and rested it lightly between his fingers. Perhaps out of a last sign of respect, he felt the need to whisper the name, spelled out in the five letters on the chain: MARIA.  
He could not at that moment feel fear, or anger, or disgust. All that overwhelmed him as he gazed at her face was pity, and love and for once an understanding - that just by knowing, he was somehow helping her.   
  
He should tell someone, his brain told him - you should call for help. But he could not leave her, not yet - she had been alone down here long enough. His eyes travelled down from her face and over her tattered dress and body. The deep blue still showed through in some patches of fabric. He wondered for a moment how beautiful Mary must have been. She even appeared graceful in death, he mused.   
  
As his gaze fell, he noticed a fragment of the wall that still remained, imprisoning her left hand behind it. Anger over took him again as the cause of her death sprung back to his thoughts. Hastily he tore the remaining wall from in front of her and eased her hand away. As he did so, however, something caught his eye. Her right hand was flat open, but this left one was loosely curled up. Gently he prised her fingers open and jumped in surprise as something small and golden slipped out and fell to the floor.   
  
Kneeling down, he picked it up off the floor and dusted it off. It was a ring - expensive by the looks of it and familiar, he realised. It took only a second to place it - his father had one just like it: a signature ring given to him when he came of age. He held it closer to his face. Though the lighting was dim, the engraving was sure enough: C.G.  
  
A small smile played his lips. Even in death, Mary would not be cheated.  
  
Slipping the ring into his pocket he went to rise. Letting out a startled scream, he jerked as he felt the blow to the back of his head. Cedric fell forwards, hitting the floor with a sickening thud but rolled over onto his back nevertheless. Fear gripped his heart as Charles stood over him. He said nothing - he did not need to. His face, hard, cold, calm - it spoke volumes.  
  
Quicker than Charles would have expected, Cedric leapt to his feet and made a mad dash to get past his uncle. Charles however, was faster. He reached out a gloved hand and grabbed the young man around the throat, pushing him back and forcing him against the wall. Cedric tried to call for help but Charles had placed both hands around the boy's neck and was now squeezing for all he was worth. Never once did he speak to him, never once did he look away from his nephew's pleading eyes. Cedric tugged and tugged at his uncle's hands in a desperate attempt to dislodge them but to no avail.  
  
'Think Cedric, think!' his mind screamed. He didn't want to die down here - alone, lost - bricked into history like Mary had been. His vision was swimming and his lungs heaved for air as his heart beat hard against his chest. Still, Charles' grip did not waver. Cedric used his feet to slam hard into Charles' leg. He heard a satisfying crack and was pleased to see the man's neutral expression flash with pain and rage. He raised his leg to try again but Charles was ready, lifting the boy off the floor and slamming him into the wall behind till Cedric heard the distant crack of his head against the stones. Dimly he was aware of the flow of blood as it ran down his neck and mingled with the sweat and dirt.   
His lungs could no longer stand it - his heart was slowing and a strange part of him was almost grateful. His vision receded, getting smaller and smaller, fading at the edges until only a pinprick of sight remained. And then he fell, crumpling to the floor in a heap.  
  
'Dear God,' he thought, 'so this is actually it? It isn't exactly as I imagined it would be. Curious.' It took a few moments more for it to dawn on him. If he was still forming thoughts, then he was still alive. In a panic, his mind leapt to Charles and he struggled to sit up and see what had happened to him - was he readying for the final blow, preparing his own entombment? Try as he might, however his body would not respond. Lack of air and two head wounds ran their natural course and Cedric simply passed out into peacefulness, missing the unfolding scene completely as his uncle lay, metres away from him on the ground, reeling from the blow just dealt by his father.  
  
Thomas stood, surveying the scene before him. Behind him he could hear the approaching sounds of his sons and the servants, including the same serving woman who had told him of the encounter with Cedric only minutes earlier. His son was alive! Through the bubbling, raw anger that fact soothed the waters. Everything else - everything, shocked and sickened him to the core. Leaving his brother's inert form for the moment, he hurried to his son's side and knelt down next to him, cradling his head in his lap. His boy he would see to first. Charles - by God, he thought, Charles could and would come later.  
  
  
  
***  
  
OK - that's it for right now folks! Epilogue is already under way and should be with you in a day or so. I hope all's alright so far and thanks for reading.  



	5. Epilogue

Relative Strangers - Epilogue  
Author: Polly  
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies (please see Part One for full version)  
Feedback: Would really appreciate it!  
  
Author's note: OK - finally the last part. I hope this was worth the wait. On re-reading the whole thing, it seems that my style changed quite a bit from beginning to end so I only hope it's still enjoyable. Here we go then!  
  
***  
  
Cedric had awoken twelve hours later, safe and comfortable in his own bed. Smiling down on him with weary eyes had been Thomas, immensely relieved to have his son awake again. For a long moment, Cedric had doubted his own eyes, not truly believing that the ordeal was over and he was home and safe. However when Thomas had leant forward to fondly brush the hair away from his face, murmuring that all was well now and that Charles was gone, Cedric collapsed back into the pillows, relieve and shock flooding through him.   
  
The physician had insisted on a great deal of rest and so it was after a quick but hearty meal, that Cedric was bustled back to bed again until further notice. When he awoke again, it was darker this time and instead of his father, Richard and William were sitting by his bedside, playing cards and arguing over the outcomes. They didn't even notice him until he coughed non-too politely. Inwardly Cedric smiled though - it was comforting to witness and participate in such ordinary and familiar events, helping to convince him that his turn in fortune was really happening. After packing the cards away, Richard and William set about informing their youngest sibling of all the events since he had stormed away from the dining table last night.   
  
Charles had excused himself shortly after Cedric had left, Thomas assumed at the time, because he was upset or embarrassed. In an attempt to calm their father's anger, William and Richard had told Sir Thomas what they knew of the last few days of their journey to Chester, including Cedric's earlier unease and the night they had found him fleeing from the inn in fear of his life. They had hoped this might go some way to excusing his current behaviour through reason of stress and illness. Cedric was grateful for their help though shivers ran down his body at the actual confirmation that all he had heard and suspected since Charles' arrival had in fact been true. Somehow, if every last detail had simply been a figment of his over-active imagination, he would have much preferred it. True, he would have been mortally humiliated but Mary might still be alive, Father would not have been forced to confront a brother and he himself would not now be recovering in bed from an attempt on his life.  
  
In any event, instead of dismissing the news, or even becoming angry at it (as Richard and William feared he might) Thomas had been filled with an irrational sense of doubt. When Martha (the serving woman Cedric had earlier encountered in the dungeons) had come rushing into the hall, speaking of the state she had just seen the young master in, Thomas' doubt had been joined by an encroaching sense of fear. They all knew Cedric's fear of that place, and Thomas had found it most unusual that in his right mind, he should choose then to go down there. At this point, his brothers questioned Cedric as to what on Earth had actually made him head for the dungeons that night.  
  
"I have no idea," he answered truthfully after considering the matter for a moment. "My legs were moving and I just...followed them." It wasn't the last time he would repeat that explanation to baffled friends and family and each time, the reasoning never became clearer - at least, not as far as he would ever admit to.  
  
So, Thomas had followed - and that's when he had seen it. His own brother, strangling his own son.   
  
Doubt was cast aside: anger, fear and love usurped its place. Thomas had run forward - towards the fading light of his son, sword drawn. Charles had been so absorbed in his task of infanticide that he had not heard the approach. His dark eyes had never left Cedric's as they had rolled further and further up, to the back of his head. As such, he had not seen the advance either. Cedric remembered those eyes well but did not mention this to his storytellers. He would not mention it ever again.   
  
Though his sword had been drawn, for whatever reasons he had, Thomas did not strike his brother down with the blade, opting to strike Charles once, hard across the back of the skull with the hilt. He had gone down with no fuss or drama, blood beginning to seep from the wound. That was when Richard, William and Eleanor had arrived. They had immediately tended to Cedric whilst Thomas, albeit reluctantly had after a while, gone to deal with Charles and handed him over to the law. They noticed Cedric's discomfort at the mention of the present state of his uncle and so smoothly changed the topic.   
  
One game of cards later and then Eleanor had come to herd them out but not without promising to visit Cedric a little later on.   
  
***  
  
Two days later, Cedric was finally allowed free range once more. However he found that, much to his own surprise he spent most of the day in his room, occasionally venturing out to wander the grounds close to the castle.   
  
Such was his feeling of displacement that he actually found himself in the room that, second to the dungeon, he would normally have been least likely to visit voluntarily. "Cedric?" asked the Friar from across the table, "are you sure you're feeling up to this? We can always continue your lessons when you have had ample time to readjust."   
  
Cedric shook his head firmly. "No thank-you, Friar. I've probably missed enough lessons as it is. Best get it over with now," he joked half-heartedly. The Friar returned a weak smile.  
"Very well then. Let us continue with Virgil's 'Aenead'." Cedric duly opened his book and began to stare at the Latin as the Friar translated. Aeneas went on a journey; he became distracted - he almost never continued to the journey's end. And he didn't marry Dido: the Friar had been right then - not everything was as simple as he first imagined - there was such a thing as 'sub text'.   
  
As the pages rolled by and the Friar continued to translate, the words on the page gradually began to blur together in a neat pattern of black squiggles. He struggled to regain focus but the words would just not reform on the page into anything intelligible.  
  
"Cedric?"   
  
His head snapped up. The Friar had stopped translating a minute or two ago and was now simply watching him from over his book. "Perhaps we should call an end for today, hmm?" he asked, kindly.   
  
"No - please. I'd rather be here," Cedric explained awkwardly. "I don't know what to do, otherwise." The Friar nodded slightly in understanding.  
  
"As you wish - I must say that this will please your father no end. We are on page eighty- two. Please continue translating at verse fifty."  
  
Cedric once more took the book up and after a few moments scanning, he had found and begun the appropriate passage. After only a few lines however, he was stumbling over the words and losing his place time and time again. He trailed off into silence and for a moment, stared blankly once more at the page.   
  
"Did he really confess to everything?" he asked suddenly. The Friar sighed - he had always known these questions would be the ultimate aim of the young man's visit.   
  
"We'll never know if Charles admitted to all that he has done but I see no reason why he should have held back now. Your father asked me to counsel Charles during his questioning - hear his private confession if need be but your uncle refused. He said what he had to say in front of us all." The Friar closed the book and leant back in his chair, surveying his young charge carefully. The last thing he wanted to do was further distress the boy, but if these unanswered questions were the cause of his anxiety then it was better for all if he knew the truth. He shook his head in sad amazement, "All for the anger of a one-sided love."   
  
"Will he really be tried for murder?"  
  
The Friar seemed surprised at that question. "Why yes. He has confessed to the murder of Mary Eden - you saw the evidence yourself."   
  
"I know," he agreed hastily, preferring not to dwell on that image. "But what of the man on our journey, Edward - the one I told Father about? I heard him tell Charles that he had killed for him. But if Uncle Charles killed Aunt Mary, then who...?" He trailed off questioningly.   
  
"Her suitor," the Friar filled in, picking up on his train of thought. "Mary Eden's lover - Robert Hardy," he explained at Cedric's blank expression. "For Mary to have eloped with this man, he too would have to have had disappeared."   
  
"So Uncle Charles paid him to kill this man to cover for Mary's death?" Cedric reasoned. "Why him though - did he owe Charles a favour?"  
  
"We don't know, Cedric. Perhaps he did but it is more likely that this Edward was simply plagued with avarice and a blackened heart: Robert Hardy was his brother." Cedric's eyes widened in realisation.   
  
"So will Edward be tried as well?" Cedric wondered. At this, the Friar glanced away for a moment.   
  
"He might if he is ever found. It is reported that he is missing since journeying into Chester almost a month ago - many believe him to be dead but there is no proof of anything."  
  
"It was Charles," Cedric muttered quietly, almost to himself.  
  
"Perhaps so," agreed the Friar, equally quietly, "but without a confession only God will know."  
  
"Did Uncle Charles forge the letter as well?"  
  
"Which letter, Cedric?"   
  
"The one from Robert's brother, saying that he and Aunt Mary had eloped together?"  
  
"Oh, yes I'd heard of that. No, I imagine Edward did that - his handwriting would be closer to his brother's than Charles' would have been. Most likely Mary never even intended to leave," he said sadly, shaking his head at the tragedy of it.  
  
"But she did," Cedric protested, "I think not to elope, but she did try to leave Covington Cross one night. Someone...a servant saw her leave and, and someone else - a pregnant woman, she saw it too. Charles must have dragged her back inside. Or maybe he killed her right there?"  
  
At this the Friar decided to call an end to the conversation. "Come now, Cedric - I am sure your father would rather we remain focused on our studies, not on gossip. Now I suggest you leave your books for today - we cannot force that brain of yours to take in what it does not want: I've learned that the hard way." Cedric gave him a distracted half smile and nodded, but his thoughts were already miles away.  
  
***  
  
The evening was wearing on and, from the slight chill in the air, it was clear that summer was ending and the autumn nights were approaching. The sky was light enough however to still stroll pleasantly about the grounds, enjoying the varying hues of the sunset. Cedric, Richard and William had been practising their swordplay but as the session had worn on, Cedric had begun to tire. Luckily for him, Eleanor appeared from the tilting yard ready to take his place. Her recently found passion for jousting had noticeably dwindled since she had learnt the truth about her uncle. No one had questioned her on it as they already knew the answer. Like the rest of them, she too would need time to come to terms. Charles had only been in their lives for a very short time but he had infiltrated every part.   
  
Cedric made his way back inside the castle intent on going up to his room. As he passed the staircase however, he heard noises coming from the solar. On closer inspection, he determined it was his father - talking to himself again it appeared. Cedric smiled - every father needed the odd eccentricity: it was what enabled their children to mock them in all good humour. Suddenly, Cedric found that he did not wish to be alone.   
  
Turning from the stairs, he ambled over to the solar where, as expected, he found Sir Thomas standing amid a mess of odds and ends. Curiously, he picked his way across the floor to stand by his father who was holding a bundle of old papers and muttering something about them to himself.   
  
"Father?" he asked, causing Thomas to jump unexpectedly.  
  
"Sorry," he apologised, "I didn't mean to startle you." When Thomas saw who it was, a broad smile spread over his face.  
  
"Not at all, Cedric!" He clapped a hand lightly on his son's shoulder. "How are you feeling? The Friar tells me you've been back at lessons today. I'm pleased at your enthusiasm but I feel that perhaps you should stay off for another day or so." Cedric nodded absently. His gaze was casting about the strange objects in the room. They seemed somehow familiar. Thomas followed his look.  
  
"They're from Charles' room," he explained. "The one in the turret tower. I believe you've been there before."  
  
"Once," Cedric agreed. Then he noticed the bundles of letters in Thomas' hand.  
"I have seen those before though," he said, "They were poems - love songs." Thomas smiled sadly. "Indeed. They are the poems Charles wrote to your Aunt Mary. The one's you said you had seen...and that I doubted you on." Cedric quickly began to shake his head but Thomas forestalled him. "I was wrong, Cedric," he admitted quickly. "I should have trusted you - paid closer attention. My desire to mend my past almost cost me all future happiness. I could not have lived if I had lost you, Cedric."   
  
Cedric glanced away uneasily. "It's all right Father," he mumbled awkwardly. "I understand. I imagine if it had been Richard or William...I...I'm sorry for what has happened between you and Uncle Charles." At this, Thomas took his son firmly by the shoulders and forced the boy to meet his eyes. "Cedric - this was by no means your fault. You must never hold yourself accountable because no body else does. Do you understand?"  
He nodded silently and Thomas drew him into a tight hug, holding on to him as if he may slip away at any moment and only releasing the boy when his arms had worn out.   
  
Keeping a hand resting gently on his son's arm, Thomas turned to the rest of the items cluttering the room. "So what do you think of this little lot?"  
Cedric eyed it carefully. "What do you think it is?"  
"It seems mostly to be things of Mary's. One can assume that we were meant to have thought that she packed them herself." A cloud of grief passed over his face for the joyful young woman he had once known, cut down far too soon. His pain was tangible - almost cutting into Cedric too and so it was not entirely unselfishly that he attempted to draw his father away from his thoughts.   
  
"What was in the trunks?" he asked, pointing to where they stood on the other side of the room. Thomas looked over at them. "I'm not entirely sure," he admitted, "clothing perhaps?" Cedric wandered over and tried the locks. They were still tight and the lid would not budge. Thomas smiled. "We'll get an iron-monger in here tomorrow," he assured the frustrated youth.   
As he turned to move away, Cedric's foot knocked against something leaning up against the back wall. Concerned that he might have damaged something, he pulled it away from the wall and leant it against the trunks to get a better look at it.   
  
It appeared to be a painting, already uncovered by Thomas as the dust cloth lay discarded on the floor next to it. Inquisitively Cedric knelt down to take a closer look. As he did so, Thomas noted his find.  
"Ah yes - I'm glad you've found that. It truly is a magnificent work of art. It was commissioned by Charles you see," he said by way of explanation. "After the fall out, I never asked after it again wanting nothing that reminded me of him. Foolish of me, really."  
  
Carefully, Cedric ran a hand over the canvass, tracing the gentle lines of the painted face. It was a beautiful face - kind and soft...and those eyes, he mused. They were captivating, enticing and familiar all at once. The hair, the calm and loving expression on her face - he had seen them - had known them all before.  
  
Then the answer struck him down. "Nan!" he breathed. 'Dear God!' he thought suddenly in a panic. 'He had last seen her in Chester! He had been sure she had come to him that night and he had been so distracted that he had forgotten all about her. He had to act now - to send horses and messengers to seek her out...'  
  
"Where on Earth did you hear her called that?"  
  
His thoughts froze. "Father?" he asked slowly. "What do you mean?"  
  
"That name. I haven't heard her called that in...well in more years than I care to remember," he said, shaking his head fondly and chuckling at the memory.  
Cedric's voice was dry in his throat - he didn't trust it to come out. "Who?" he croaked.  
Thomas looked at him in amusement. "Your mother of course! I remember she said it was Mary. Yes, that's right! As young children, Mary would never call her Anne - perhaps she couldn't? Anyway, she only ever called her Nan and eventually the name stayed between the two of them - a sort of pet name if you will. I can't imagine where you came across it."  
  
Cedric was backing up away from the painting - away from that face, staring at him innocently from behind long dead eyes. Shaking his head, he managed to whisper, "But it can't be - can't be her."   
  
Thomas appeared puzzled but then he seemed to realise something.   
  
"Of course. You've never really seen pictures of your mother, have you? I have been most at fault there. I confess that sometimes the memory of her could be...overwhelming. If you'd known her I imagine you'd understand.   
Of course this painting was quite old even when Charles had it painted - by the time he left England, your mother was heavily pregnant with you and knowing her, she would never have consented to a portrait!   
Perhaps I shall display this now? Yes, at the top of the staircase perhaps where we may all enjoy it. Cedric?" he asked in mild concern, "are you alright? You seem piqued."  
  
Cedric nodded, mouthing words that never came out. His hands were shaking, his heart pounding. Wordlessly he ran from the room.  
  
***  
  
He tore from the hall way and out of the castle, not stopping when he hit the cool evening air but carried on, running for all he was worth past the courtyard, past the fields and on further, into the outer grounds. On and on he ran, his lungs heaving in his chest, every breath of air seemingly piercing them like a needle until he reached the orchards.  
  
He knew she'd be here - she was always here.  
  
Hot tears streamed down his face and he wrapped his arms about his waist, both to steady his shaking body and to alleviate his muscle cramps.   
  
The trees were silent, the air was still - nobody moved: nobody breathed.  
  
"MOTHER?" he cried. Silence answered him and his tears fell harder.  
  
"Mother - please!"  
  
He sank to his knees onto the cool, dewy grass, silently pleading with her to appear. Deep down however - down where sub-consciousness, and instinct and understanding were buried, he knew that she would not appear to him. Whatever they had shared - whatever bond had not been severed - it was severed now.  
  
He stayed in the orchard for another hour. The sun had well and truly set before he had picked himself off the ground - no longer desolate and lonely, but filled with the strangest sensation of peace and clarity. The memories were still raw, but they were fond and with a slowly lightening heart, he made his way back toward his family - towards his home.  
  
***  
  
  
Thomas surveyed the scene from a slight distance, an air of dispassion across his face.  
Charles stood silently next to the Sheriff's men, bound fast.  
  
"Are you sure, Thomas?" one of them asked.  
  
"Quite so," he replied firmly. "Escorting prisoners on my land is still my responsibility. I shall see to it from here." Charles looked at him evenly. If he had once doubted his brother as a fool, he no longer did so now. 'So be it', he thought grimly - 'this is as it should be.'  
The sheriff's men nodded curtly in understanding and handed the documentation over to Thomas.   
  
Thomas waited and watched until they had mounted their horses and rode out of sight, along the road that led into town. When the dust from the horses' hooves had settled, he finally turned to Charles, hand constantly on his sword. He could not bear to contemplate the man he saw before him - the man who could murder his wife's sister and try to take the life of his youngest child. The man who as a boy had played with him and protected him from harm's way. Somehow, this only served to make his hatred of him now, all the more passionate. It burned in his eyes every time he looked at him. Through the questioning, they had spoken little to each other about anything other than his actual confessions: but bad blood could not stay silent for long.  
  
"Mount up now," he ordered, not bothering to ask if he could manage the task with his hands tied. He did, however and as soon as Thomas had checked that their horses were lunged together, he mounted his own horse and kicked it into action. Together both horses set off at a canter along the dusty road. Up ahead of them, the turning was approaching that would lead them to the shire's gaol. Charles regarded it with quiet contempt but with acceptance nonetheless.   
  
As the horses neared the turning, Thomas slowed them down. Suddenly however he yanked the reigns sharply to the left, sending the horses off in a gallop down a narrow path, leading deep into the forest. Charles could not keep the surprise from crossing his face as they changed their course. Thomas had never in his life been one for the spur of the moment. Rules: that is what guided his life - that is what he counted on when planning Mary's elopement: it was what he was counting on whilst Thomas transported him to incarceration. And now - now things were finally changing.  
  
On and on Thomas drew them deeper into the forest. Dimly, Charles tried to remember what was on the other side. Thomas still did not speak to him, but for what Charles knew his brother had in mind, there would be a time and a place for speech and it was not while riding their horses.  
  
As the forest's outer edge came into walking distance, Thomas drew them to a swift halt and leapt off his steed. Wordlessly, Charles followed. Thomas remained silent, turning away from Charles seemingly contemplating the forest around him. Charles simply waited, aware that whatever game was being played here - this time it was by Thomas' rules.   
At length, Thomas spoke - so quietly that if Charles had not been paying close attention he would not have heard it:  
  
"I do not understand you, Charles."  
  
"What is it you do not understand, brother?" he replied evenly. At once Thomas spun around, temper raging. With all of his might, he sent his fist cracking into Charles' jaw causing the man to fly backwards from the blow and hit the ground hard. The crack on impact caused little satisfaction to Thomas, however. Hurt; grief; anger - all of these emotions tortured his very soul.  
  
As ably as he could manage, Charles picked himself up off the forest floor ignoring as best he could, the throbbing pain in his face.  
  
"You have tried to take the life of my son! My son, man - how could you? In God's dear name, how could you try to harm him?"  
  
Charles smiled sadly at Thomas, wiping the blood from his lip in a kind of peaceful contemplation. "Thomas, you have no idea how I admire that boy of yours. He is intelligent beyond his own understanding - perhaps beyond yours as well.   
Of all the lives I could have felled in my affairs - his would have been by far the most tragic."  
  
Thomas stared at him, dumbfounded - not sure whether to trust his instincts or not. "Then...why?" he managed, struggling to find some reason, some understanding to pin his confusion on.   
  
"Because of his persistence, his ingenuity. Nurture that boy, brother - he will end up surprising you, I guarantee. But come, Thomas - this talk is not the reason you brought me in here. Without the papers, my disappearance will eventually mean very little to the Law. I'm sure you have gathered that by now or we would not be standing here as we do."  
  
Thomas straightened, his expression unreadable. "Indeed I have, Charles. You have attempted to rob me of that which I hold most dear - my family. For that, I can never find forgiveness enough in my heart to bestow upon you."  
  
"I understand that, Thomas - believe me."  
  
"Then I am glad to hear that." From beneath the folds of his cloak, Thomas reached into his belt and brought out a long, ornate silver dagger. Charles' eyes widened ever so slightly, but that was the only response he was prepared to give. He may have been expecting this - his brother, he had learned, was fiercely protective of his own - but that did not mean that he would dance to his brother's tune.   
  
In three short strides, Thomas had crossed to Charles and with one hand, taken a grip on his right arm and with the other, readied the blade. 'No', Charles thought, almost fondly, 'my brother is not the fool I have taken him for.' Roughly, Thomas jerked Charles' arms forward slightly, anger lining his jaw - facial muscles twitching with tension and strain. Bringing the knife towards him, he smoothly applied it to Charles' bonds, sawing through the ropes that held him tight. Charles gazed down in him in astonishment, suspicion obvious on his face but a question on his lips. Before he could remark however, Thomas cut in, roughly:  
  
"There will never be a place for you at my table again, Charles. My hatred of you will be ever lasting. But...I find...that you are still, and always will be...family. If you come near me or mine again, know this - I will strike you down by the Grace of God. No courts - no law: only my law. Your horse will return with me but before this week is gone, you will have left England and this time, you shall not be returning. For all extent and purposes I may consider you dead. Do you understand all that I have said?"  
  
Charles nodded once, mutely. Perhaps his brother was fool enough, after all?   
  
"Then go - we shall not meet again."  
  
With one last look at his brother, Charles turned on his heel and made his way to the forest's edge and into the neighbouring town. England would be a land he would be only too glad to leave behind.  
  
Thomas watched him go - watched until his brother was out of sight. As he mounted his horse for his return, he fined his resolve to speak of this encounter to no one. Though his heart and mind raced in turmoil, his gut was offering assurances - if Charles were ever foolish enough to return, he would be ready.   
  
Drawn in mind and spirit, he spurred his horse onwards to Covington Cross - back to the folds of his family, and the welcome embrace of their inextricable trials and fortunes.   
  
***  
  
  
Well, that's it folks! Thanks for seeing it through to the end with me. I know it might seem a little implausible that Cedric wouldn't know what his own mother looked like, but it IS possible, from my own experience. Plus in the episode where Anne's sister (who is supposedly a dead ringer for Anne herself) comes into it, Cedric had no idea who she was. So that's my justification - also it worked well for me!  
  
Hope you enjoyed it :)  



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